


Styles

by ViciousVera



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Boys In Love, CEO Harry, Dom Harry, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, First Time, Gay Sex, Innocent Louis, M/M, Money Money Money, Oral Sex, Protective Harry, Rich Harry, Sassy Louis, Sex Toys, Shy Louis, Sub Louis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2020-02-09 23:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 110,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18648187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViciousVera/pseuds/ViciousVera
Summary: In Harry's own words, and through his thoughts, reflections, and dreams, this story offers a fresh perspective on his and Louis love story.Harry Styles exercises control in all things; his world is neat, disciplined, and utterly empty - until the day that Louis Tomlinson falls into his office, in a tangle of shapely limbs and tumbling brown hair. He tries to forget him, but instead is swept up in a storm of emotion he cannot comprehend and cannot resist. Unlike any man he has known before, shy, unworldly Louis seems to see right through him - past the business prodigy and the penthouse lifestyle to Harry Styles' cold, wounded heart.Will being with Louis dispel the horrors of his childhood that haunt Harry every night? Or will his dark sexual desires, his compulsion to control, and the self-loathing that fills his soul drive this boy away and destroy the fragile hope he offers him?Basically E L James' 'Grey' story - Christian's perspective of Fifty Shades Of Grey. But with Louis and Harry





	1. First Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Hullo!
> 
> Disclaimer! This story is based upon the works of E L James' 'Grey' and is slightly edited by me. I do not own this storyline and I do not own any characters within this story, E L James owns all rights and is the original author. If you would like to read the original copy by her leave a comment below and I will be more than happy to point you in the right direction.
> 
> That being said - This is 'my' first work uploaded on here, if you spot any mistakes just highlight and I'll fix them. This is me testing the waters and waiting to hear feedback about this sort of storyline before I post any workings of my own so please feel free to give any feedback - good or bad!
> 
> Enjoy :)

** Monday, May 9, 2011 **

I have three cars. They go fast across the floor. So fast. One is red. One is green. One is yellow. I like the green one. It’s the best. Mommy likes them, too. I like when mommy plays with the cars and me. The red one is her best. Today she sits on the couch staring at the wall. The green car flies into the rug. The red car follows. Then the yellow. Crash! But mommy doesn’t see. I aim the green car at her feet. But the green car goes under the couch. I can’t reach it. My hand is too big for the gap. Mommy doesn’t see. I want my green car. But mommy stays on the couch staring at the wall. _Mommy. My car._ She doesn’t hear me. _Mommy._ I pull her hand and she lies back and closes her eyes. _Not now, Maggot. Not now,_ she says. My green car stays under the couch. It’s always under the couch. I can see it. But can’t reach it. My green car is fuzzy. Covered in gray fur and dirt. I want it back. But I can’t reach it. My green car is lost. Lost. And I can never play with it again.

I open my eyes and my dream fades in the early-morning light. _What the hell was that about?_ I grasp at the fragments as they recede, but fail to catch any of them.

Dismissing it, like I do most mornings, I climb out of bed and find some newly laundered sweats in my walk-in closet. Outside, a leaden sky promises rain, and I’m not in the mood to be rained on during my run today. I head upstairs to my gym, switch on the TV for the morning business news, and step onto the treadmill. My thoughts stray to the day. I’ve nothing but meetings, though I’m seeing my personal trainer later for a workout at my office – Bastille is always a welcome challenge _. Maybe I should call Nick? Yeah maybe._ We can do dinner later this week. I stop the treadmill, breathless, and head down to the shower to start another monotonous day.

“Tomorrow,” I mutter, dismissing Claude Bastille as he stands at the threshold of my office. “Golf, this week Styles.” Bastille grins with easy arrogance, knowing that his victory on the golf course is assured. I scowl at him as he turns and leaves. His parting words rub salt into my wounds because, despite my heroic attempts during our workout today, my personal trainer has kicked my ass. Bastille is the only one who can beat me, and now he wants another pound of flesh on the golf course. I detest golf, but so much business is done on the fairways, I have to endure his lessons there, too…and though I hate to admit it, playing against Bastille does improve my game.

As I stare out the window at the Seattle skyline, the familiar ennui seeps unwelcome into my consciousness. My mood is as flat and gray as the weather. My days are blending together with no distinction, and I need some kind of diversion.

 I’ve worked all weekend, and now, in the continued confines of my office, I’m restless. I shouldn’t feel this way, not after several bouts with Bastille. But I do. I frown. The sobering truth is that the only thing to capture my interest recently has been my decision to send two freighters of cargo to Sudan.

This reminds me – Ros is supposed to come back to me with numbers and logistics. _What the hell is keeping her?_ I check my schedule and reach for my phone. _Damn._ I have to endure an interview with the persistent Mr Malik for the WSU student newspaper. Why the hell did I agree to this? I loathe interviews – inane questions from ill-informed, envious people intent on probing my private life. _And he’s a student_.

The phone buzzes. “Yes,” I snap at Andrea, as if she’s to blame.  At least I can keep this interview short. “Mr Louis Tomlinson is here to see you, Mr. Styles.”

“Tomlinson? I was expecting Zayn Malik.”

“It’s Mr Louis Tomlinson who is here, sir.”

I hate the unexpected.

“Show him in.”

_Well, well…Mr Malik is unavailable._ I know his father, Eamon, the owner Malik Media. We’ve done business together; he seems like a shewed operator and a rational human being. This interview is a favour to him – one that I mean to cash in on later when it suits me. And I have to admit I was vaguely curious about his son, interested to see if the apple has fallen far from the tree.

A commotion at the door brings me to my feet as a whirl of chestnut hair, tanned limbs, and brown boots dives head first into my office. Repressing my natural annoyance at such clumsiness, I hurry over to the boy who has landed on his hands and knees on the floor. Clasping slim shoulders, I help him to his feet. Clear, embarrassed eyes meet mine and halt me in my tracks. They are the most extraordinary colour, powder blue, and guileless, and for one awful moment, I think he can see right through me and I’m left… exposed. The thought is unnerving, so I dismiss it immediately.

He has a small, sweet face that is blushing now, an innocent pale rose. I wonder briefly if all his skin is like that – flawless – and what it would look like pink and warmed from the bite of a cane. _Damn._ I stop my wandering thoughts, alarmed at their direction. _What the hell are you thinking, Styles?_ This boy is much too young. He gapes at me, and I resist rolling my eyes. _Yeah, yeah, baby, it’s just a face, and it’s only skin deep._ I need to dispel that admiring look from those eyes but let’s have some fun in the process!

“Mr Tomlinson, I’m Harry Styles. Are you all right? Would you like to sit?” There’s that blush again. In command once more, I study him. He’s quite attractive – slight, tanned, with a mane of dark hair barely contained by hair gel.

A brunette.

Yeah, he’s attractive. I extend my hand as he stutters the beginning of a mortified apology and places his hand in mine. His skin is cool and soft, but his handshake is surprisingly firm.

“Mr Malik is indisposed, so he sent me. I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Styles.” His voice is quiet with a hesitant musicality, and he blinks erratically, long lashes fluttering. Unable to keep the amusement from my voice I recall his less-than-elegant entrance into my office, I ask who he is.

“Louis Tomlinson. I’m studying English Literature with Zayn, um Zayn Malik, at WSU Vancouver.”

_A bashful, bookish type, eh?_ He looks it: poorly dressed, his slight frame hidden beneath a shapeless sweater, brown pants, and utilitarian boots. Does he have any sense of style at all? He looks nervously around my office – everywhere but at me, I note, with amused irony. How can this young man be a journalist? He doesn’t have an assertive bone in his body. He’s flustered, meek…submissive. Bemused at my inappropriate thoughts, I shake my head and wonder if first impressions are reliable. Muttering some platitude, I ask him to sit, then notice his discerning gaze appraising my office paintings. Before I can stop myself, I find I’m explaining them. “A local artist. Trouton.”

“They’re lovely. Raising the ordinary to the extraordinary,” he says dreamily, lost in the exquisite, fine artistry of Trouton’s work. His profile is delicate – an upturned nose, soft, full lips – and in his words he has captured my sentiments exactly. _Raising the ordinary to extraordinary_. It’s a keen observation. Mr Tomlinson is bright.

I agree and watch, fascinated, as that flush slowly creeps over his skin once more. As I sit down opposite him, I try to bridle my thoughts. He fishes some crumpled sheets of paper and a digital recorder out of his large bag. He’s all thumbs, dropping the damned thing twice on my Bauhaus coffee table. It’s obvious he’s never done this before, but for some reason I can’t fathom, I find it amusing. Under normal circumstances his maladroitness would irritate the hell out of me, but now I hide my smile beneath my index finger and resist the urge to set it up for him myself.

As he fumbles and grows more and more flustered, it occurs to me that I could refine his motor skills with the aid of a riding crop. Adeptly used, it can bring even the most skittish to heel. The errant thought makes me shift in my chair. He peeks up at me and bites down on his full bottom lip.

_Fuck! How did I not notice how inviting that mouth is?_

“S-Sorry, I’m not used to this.”

_I can tell, baby, but right now I don’t give a damn because I can’t take my eyes off your mouth._

“Take all the time you need, Mr Tomlinson.” I need another moment to marshal my wayward thoughts.

_Styles…stop this, now._

“Do you mind if I record your answers?” he asks, his face candid and expectant. I want to laugh.

“After you’ve taken so much trouble to set up the recorder, you ask me now?”

He blinks, his eyes large and lost for a moment, and I’m overcome by an unfamiliar twinge of guilt. _Stop being such a shit, Styles._ “No, I don’t mind.” I don’t want to be responsible for that look.

“Did Zayn, I mean, Mr Malik. Explain what the interview was for?”

“Yes, to appear in the graduation issue of the student newspaper, as I shall be giving the commencement address at this year’s graduation ceremony.” Why the hell I’ve agreed to do _that,_ I don’t know. Sam in PR tells me that’s WSU’s environmental sciences department needs the publicity in order to attract additional funding to match the grant I’ve given them, and Sam will go to any lengths for media exposure.

Mr Tomlinson blinks once more, as if this is news to him – and he looks disapproving. Hasn’t he done any background work for this interview? He should know this. The thought cools my blood. It’s…displeasing, not what I expect from someone who’s imposing on my time.

“Good. I have some questions, Mr. Styles.” He smooths down a lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes, distracting me from my annoyance.

“I thought you might.” I say dryly. Let’s make him squirm. Obligingly, he does, then pulls himself upright and squares his small shoulders. He means business. Leaning forward, he presses the start button on the recorder and frowns as he glances down at his crumpled notes.

“You’re very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe your success?”

Surely, he can do better than this? What a dull question. Not one iota of originality. It’s disappointing. I trot out my usual response about having exceptional people working for me. People I trust, insofar as I trust anyone, and pay well – blah, blah, blah…But Mr Tomlinson, the simple fact is, I’m brilliant at what I do. For me it’s like falling off a log. Buying ailing, mismanaged companies and fixing them, keeping some or, if they’re really broken, stripping their assets and selling them off to the highest bidder. It’s simply a question of knowing the difference between two, and invariably it comes down to the people in charge. To succeed in business you need good people, and I can judge a person, better than most.

“Maybe you’re just lucky,” He says quietly.

_Lucky?_ A frisson of annoyance runs through me. _Lucky?_ How dare he? He looks unassuming and quiet, but this question? No one has ever suggested that I was lucky. Hard work, bringing people with me, keeping a close eye on them, and second-guessing them if I need to, and if they aren’t up to the task, ditching them. _That’s what I do, and I do_ _it well. It’s nothing to do with luck! Well, to hell with that._ Flaunting my erudition, I quote the words of Andrew Carnegie, my favourite industrialist. “The growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership.”

“You sound like a control freak,” he says, and he’s perfectly serious.

_What the hell? Maybe he can see through me._

“Control” _is my middle name, sweetheart._ I glare at him, hoping to intimidate him.

“Oh, I exercise control in all things, Mr Tomlinson.” And I’d like to exercise it over you, right here, right now.

That attractive blush steals across his face, and he bites that lip again. I ramble on, trying to distract myself from his mouth.

“Besides, immense power is acquired by assuring yourself, in your secret reveries, that you were born to control things.”

“Do you feel you have immense power?” he asks in a soft, soothing voice, but he arches a delicate brow with a look that conveys his censure. Is he deliberately trying to goad me? Is it his questions, his attitude, or the fact that I find him attractive that’s pissing me off? My annoyance grows.

“I employ over forty thousand people. That gives me a certain sense of responsibility – power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer interested in the telecommunications business and sell, twenty thousand people would struggle to make their mortgage payments after a month or so.”

His mouth pops open at my response. That’s more like it. _Suck it up, baby_. I feel my equilibrium returning.

“Don’t you have a board to answer to?”

“I own my own company. I don’t have to answer to a board.” He should know this.

“And do you have any interests outside your work?” he continues hastily, correctly gauging my reaction. He knows I’m pissed, and for some inexplicable reason this pleases me.

“I have varied interests, Mr Tomlinson. Very varied.” Images of him in assorted positions in my playroom flash through my mind: shackled on the cross, spread-eagled on the four-poster, splayed over the whipping bench. And behold – there’s that blush again. It’s like a defence mechanism.

“But if you work so hard, what do you do to chill out?”

“Chill out?” Those words out his smart mouth sound odd but amusing. Besides, when do I get time to chill out? He has no idea what I do. But he looks at me again with those ingenuous big eyes, and to my surprise I find myself considering his question. _What do I do to chill out?_ Sailing, flying, fucking…testing the limits of attractive brunettes like him, and bringing them to heel…The thought makes me shift in my seat, but I answer him smoothly, omitting a few favourite hobbies.

“You invest in manufacturing. Why, specifically?”

“I like to build things. I like to know how things work: what makes things tick, how to construct and deconstruct. And I have a love of ships. What can I say?” They transport food around the planet.

“That sounds like your heart talking, rather than logic and facts.”

_Heart? Me? Oh no, baby._

My heart was savaged beyond recognition a long time ago. “Possibly. Though are people who’d say I don’t have a heart.”

“Why would they say that?”

“Because they know me well.” I give him a wry smile. In fact, no one knows me that well, except maybe Nick. I wonder what he would make of little Mr Tomlinson here. The boy is a mass of contradictions: shy, awkward, obviously bright, and arousing as hell.

_Yes, okay, I admit it. I find him alluring._

He recites the next question by rote. “Would your friends say you’re easy to get to know?”

“I’m a very private person. I go a long way to protect my privacy. I don’t often give interviews.” Doing what I do, living the life I’ve chosen, I need my privacy.

“Why did you agree to this one?”

“Because I’m a benefactor of the university, and for all intents and purposes, I couldn’t get Mr Malik off my back. He badgered and badgered my PR people, and I admire that kind of tenacity.” But I’m glad it’s you who turned up and not him.

“You also invest in farming technologies. Why are you interested in this area?”

“We can’t eat money, Mr Tomlinson, and there are too many people on this planet who don’t have enough food.” I stare at him, poker-faced.

“That sounds very philanthropic. Is that something you feel passionately about? Feeding the poor?” He regards me with a puzzled look, as if I’m a conundrum, but there’s no way I want him seeing into my dark soul. This is not an area open to discussion. _Move it along, Styles._

“It’s shrewd business,” I mutter, feigning boredom, and I imagine fucking that mouth to distract myself from all the thoughts of hunger. Yes, his mouth needs training, and I imagine him on his knees before me. Now, that thought is appealing.

He recites his next question, dragging me away from my fantasy. “Do you have a philosophy? If so, what is it?”

“I don’t have a philosophy as such. Maybe a guiding principle – Carnegie’s: ‘A man who acquires the ability to take full possession of his own mind may take possession of anything else to which he is justly entitled.’ I’m very singular, driven. I like control – of myself and those around me.”

“So, you want to possess things?”

_Yes, baby. You, for one._ I frown, startled by the thought.

“I want to deserve to possess them, but yes, bottom line, I do.”

“You sound like the ultimate consumer.” His voice is tinged with disapproval, pissing me off again.

“I am.”

He sounds like a rich kid who’s had all he ever wanted, but as I take a closer look at his clothes – he’s dressed in clothes from some cheap store like Old Navy or H&M – I know that isn’t it. He hasn’t grown up in an affluent household.

_I could really take care of you._

_Where the hell did that thought come from?_

Although, now that I consider it, I do need a new sub. It’s been, what – two months since Samuel? And here I am, salivating over this man. I try an agreeable smile. Nothing wrong with consumption – after all, it drives what’s left of the American economy.

“You were adopted. How much do you think that’s shaped the way you are?”

What does this have to do with the price of oil? What a ridiculous question. If I’d stayed with the crack whore, I’d probably be dead. I blow him off with a non-answer, trying to keep my voice level, but he pushes me, demanding to know how old I was when I was adopted.

_Shut him down, Styles!_

My tone goes cold. “That’s a matter of public record, Mr Tomlinson.”

He should know this, too. Now he looks contrite as he tucks an escaped strand of hair back into place. _Good._

“You’ve had to sacrifice family life for your work.”

“That’s not a question,” I snap.

He startles, clearly embarrassed, but he has the grace to apologise and he rephrases the question: “Have you had to sacrifice family life for your work?”

What do I want with a family? “I have a family. I have a brother, a sister, and two loving parents. I’m not interested in extending my family beyond that.”

“Are you gay, Mr Styles?”

_What the hell!_

I cannot believe he’s said that out loud!

How dare he. I have a sudden urge to drag him out of his seat, bend him over my knee, spank him, and then fuck him over my desk with his hands tied behind his back. That would answer his very brave question.

“Yes, Louis, I am.” I raise my eyebrows, but keep my expression impassive. _Louis._ It’s a lovely name. I like the way my tongue rolls around it.

“I apologise. It’s, um…written here.”

He’s at it again with the hair being smoothed back into place. Obviously, it’s a nervous habit.

_Are these not his questions?_ I ask him, and he pales. Damn, he really is attractive, in an understated sort of way.

“Er…no. Zayn – Mr Malik – he compiled the questions.”

“Are you colleagues on the student paper?”

“No. He’s my roommate.”

No wonder he’s all over the place. I scratch my chin, debating whether or not to give him a really hard time.

“Did you volunteer to do this interview?” I ask, and I’m rewarded with his submissive look: he’s nervous about my reaction. I like the effect I have on him.

“I was drafted, he’s not well.” His voice is soft.

“That explains a great deal.”

There’s a knock at the door, and Andrea appears.

“Mr. Styles, forgive me for interrupting, but your next appointment is in two minutes.”

“We’re not finished here, Andrea. Please cancel my next meeting.”

Andrea gapes at me, looking confused. I stare at her. _Out! Now!_ I’m busy with little Mr Tomlinson here.

“Very well, Mr. Styles,” she says, recovering quickly, and turning on her heel, she leaves us.

I turn my attention back to the intriguing, frustrating creature on my couch.

“Where were we, Mr Tomlinson?”

“Please, don’t let me keep you from anything.”

_Oh no, baby. It’s my turn now._ I want to know if there are any secrets to uncover behind that lovely face.

“I want to know about you. I think that’s only fair.” As I lean back and press my fingers to my lips, his eyes flick to my mouth and he swallows. _Oh yes – the usual effect._ And it is gratifying to know he isn’t completely oblivious to my charms.

“There’s not much to know,” he says, blush returning.

I’m intimidating him. “What are your plans after you graduate?”

“I haven’t made any plans, Mr. Styles. I just need to get through my final exams.”

“We run an excellent internship programme here.”

What possessed me ever to say that? It’s against the rules, Styles. Never fuck the staff…But you’re not fucking this boy.

He looks surprised, and his teeth sink into that lip again. Why is that so arousing?

“Oh. I’ll bear that in mind,” he replies. “Though I’m not sure I’d fit in here.”

“Why do you say that?” I ask. _What’s wrong with my company?_

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“Not to me.” I’m confounded by his response. He’s flustered again as he reaches for the recorder.

_Shit, he’s going._ Mentally I run through my schedule for that afternoon – there is nothing that won’t keep. “Would you like me to show you around?”

“I’m sure you’re far too busy, Mr. Styles, and I do have a long drive.”

“You’re driving back to Vancouver?” I glance out the window. It’s one hell of a drive, and it’s raining. He shouldn’t be driving in this weather, but I can’t forbid him. The thought irritates me. “Well, you’d better drive carefully.” My voice is sterner that I intend. He fumbles with the recorder. He wants out of my office, and to my surprise, I don’t want to let him go.

“Did you get everything you need?” I ask in a transparent effort to prolong his stay.

“Yes, sir,” he says quietly. His response floors me – the way those words sound, coming out that smart mouth – and briefly I imagine that mouth at my beck and call.

“Thank you for the interview, Mr. Styles.”

“The pleasure’s been all mine,” I respond – truthfully, because I haven’t been this fascinated by anyone for a while. The thought is unsettling. He stands and I extend my hand, eager to touch him.

“Until we meet again, Mr Tomlinson.” My voice is low as he places his hand in mine. Yes, I want to flog and fuck this boy in my playroom. Have him bound and wanting…needing me, trusting me. I swallow.

_It ain’t going to happen, Styles_.

“Mr. Styles.” He nods and withdraws his hand quickly, too quickly.

I can’t let him go like this. It’s obvious he’s desperate to leave. It’s irritating, but inspiration hits me as I open my office door.

“Just ensuring you make it through the door,” I quip.

His lips form a hard line. “That’s very considerate, Mr. Styles,” he snaps.

Mr Tomlinson bites back! I grin behind him as he exists, and follow him out. Both Andrea and Olivia look up in shock. _Yeah, yeah. I’m just seeing the boy out._

“Did you have a coat?” I ask.

“A jacket.”

I give Olivia a pointed look and she immediately leaps up to retrieve a navy jacket, passing it o me with her usual simpering expression. Christ, Olivia is annoying – mooning over me all the time.

_Hmm_. The jacket it worn and cheap. Mr Louis Tomlinson should be better dressed. I hold it up for him, and as I pull it over his slim shoulders, I touch the skin at the base of his neck. He stills at the contact and pales.

_Yes!_ He is affected by me. The knowledge is immensely pleasing. Strolling over to the elevator, I press the call button while he stands fidgeting beside me.

_Oh, I could stop your fidgeting, baby._

The doors open and he scurries in, then turns to face me. He’s more than attractive. I would go as far to say he’s beautiful.

“Louis,” I say, in good-bye.

“Harry,” he answers, his voice soft.

And the elevator doors close, leaving my name hanging in the air between us, sounding odd and unfamiliar, but sexy as hell.

I need to know more about this boy.

“Andrea,” I bark as I return to my office. “Get me Welch on the line, now.”

As I sit at my desk and wait for the call, I look at the paintings on the wall of my office, and Mr Tomlinson’s words drift back to me. _“Raising the ordinary to extraordinary.”_ He could easily have been describing himself.

My phone buzzes. “I have Mr. Welch on the line for you.”

“Put him through.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Welch, I need a background check.”

 


	2. Clayton's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer! Not my storyline, just edited by me - work belongs to E L James. I do not own the characters within this story.
> 
> Hope we're all swell?? I wasn't going to post or write today but if Arya Stark can get it, SO. CAN. I.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> P.S. Birth Dates\Places are incorrect for Louis and family but I didn't want to delve too deep into that aspect and complicate matters

** Saturday, May 14, 2011 **

LOUIS WILLIAM TOMLINSON

DOB: Sept. 10, 1989, Montesano, WA

Address: 1114 SW Green Street, Apartment 7, Haven Heights, Vancouver, WA 98888

Mobile No: 360-959-4352

Social Security No: 987-65-4320

Bank: Wells Fargo Bank, Vancouver, WA: Acct. No: 309361: $683.16 balance

Occupation: Undergraduate Student, WSU Vancouver College of Arts and Sciences. English Major

GPA: 4.0

Prior Education: Montesano Jr. Sr. High School

SAT Score: 2150

Employment: Clayton’s Hardware Store, NW, Vancouver, Drive, Portland, OR (part-time)

Father: Troy T. Austin, DOB: Sept. 1, 1969 Deceased Sept. 11, 1989

Mother: Johannah Poulston, DOB: July 18, 1970 - M. Troy. Austin March 1, 1989 Widowed Sept. 11, 1989 M. Mark Tomlinson June 6, 1990, divorced July 12, 2006 M. Daniel Deakin April 6, 2009

Political Affiliations: None Found

Religious Affiliations: None Found

Sexual Orientation: Unknown

Relationships: None Indicated at Present

I pore over the executive summary for the hundredth time since I received it two days ago, looking for some insight into the enigmatic Mr Louis William Tomlinson. I cannot get the dammed man out of my mind, and it’s seriously beginning to piss me off. This past week, during particularly dull meetings, I’ve found myself replaying the interview in my head. His fumbling fingers on the recorder, the way he slicked his hair back from his forehead, the lip biting. Yes. The lip biting gets me every time.

And now here I am, parked outside Clayton’s, a mom-and-pop hardware store on the outskirts of Portland where he works.

_You’re a fool, Styles. Why are you here?_

I knew it would lead to this. All week…I knew I’d have to see him again. I’d known it since he uttered my name in the elevator. I’d tried to resist. I’d waited five days, five tedious days, to see if I’d forget about him.

_And I don’t do waiting. I hate waiting…for anything._

I’ve never pursed a man before. The men I’ve had understood what I expected of them. My fear now is that Mr Tomlinson is just too young and that he won’t be interested in what I have to offer. _Will he?_ Will he even make a good submissive? I shake my head. So here I am, an ass, sitting in a suburban parking lot in a dreary part of Portland.

His background check has produced nothing remarkable – except the last fact, what has been the forefront of my mind. It’s the reason I’m here. _Why no boyfriend, Mr Tomlinson?_ Sexual orientation unknown – _Perhaps he’s straight._ I snort, thinking that unlikely. I recall the question he asked during the interview, his acute embarrassment, the way his skin flushed a pale rose…I’ve been suffering from these lascivious thoughts since I met him.

_That’s why you’re here._

I’m itching to see him again – those blue eyes have haunted me, even in my dreams. I haven’t mentioned him to Flynn, and I’m glad because I’m now behaving like a stalker. _Perhaps I should let him know._ No. I don’t want him hounding me about his latest solution-based-therapy shit. I just need a distraction, and right now the only distraction I want is the one working as a salesclerk in a hardware store.

You’ve come all this way. Let’s see if little Mr Tomlinson is as appealing as you remember.

_Showtime, Styles._

A bell chimes a flat electronic note as I walk into the store. It’s much bigger than it looks from the outside, and although it’s almost lunchtime the place is quiet, for a Saturday. There are aisles of the usual junk you’d expect. I’d forgotten the possibilities that a hardware store could present to someone like me. I mainly shop online for my needs, but while I’m here, maybe I’ll stock up on a few items: Velcro, split rings – _Yeah._ I’ll find the delectable Mr Tomlinson and have some fun.

It takes me all of three seconds to spot him. He’s hunched over the counter, staring intently at a computer screen and picking at his lunch – a bagel. Absentmindedly, he wipes crumbs from the corner of his lips and into his mouth and sucks on his finger. My cock twitches in response.

_What am I, fourteen?_

My body’s reaction is irritating. Maybe this will stop if I fetter, fuck, and flog him…and not necessarily in that order. _Yeah. That’s what I need._

He is thoroughly absorbed by his task, and it gives me an opportunity to study him. Salacious thoughts aside, he’s attractive, seriously attractive. I’ve remembered him well.

He looks up and freezes. It’s as unnerving as the first time I met him. He pins me with a discerning stare – shocked, I think – and I don’t know if this is a good response or a bad response.

“Mr Tomlinson. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Mr. Styles,” he says, breathy and flustered. _Ah, a good response._

“I was in the area. I need to stock up on a few things. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” _A real pleasure._ He’s dressed in a tight T-shirt and jeans, not the shapeless shit he was wearing earlier this week. He’s all legs, narrow waist, and perfect ass. His lips are still parted in surprise, and I have to resist the urge to tip his chin and close his mouth. I’ve flown from Seattle just to see you, and the way you look right now, it was really worth the journey.

“Louis. My name’s Louis. What can I help you with, Mr. Styles?” He takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders like he did in the interview, and gives me a fake smile that I’m sure he reserves for customers.

_Game on, Mr Tomlinson._

“There are a few items I need. To start with, I’d like some cable ties.”

My request catches him off guard; he looks stunned.

_Oh, this is going to be fun. You’d be surprised what I can do with a few cable ties, baby._

“We stock various lengths. Shall I show you?” he says, finding his voice.

“Please. Lead the way.”

He steps out from behind the counter and gestures toward one of the aisles. He’s wearing chucks. Idly I wonder what he’d look like in smart shoes. Louboutin’s…nothing but Louboutin’s.

“They’re with the electrical goods, aisle eight.” His voice wavers and he blushes… He _is_ affected by me. Hope blooms in my chest.

He’s not straight, then. I smirk.

“After you.” I hold my hand out for him to lead the way. Letting him walk ahead gives me the space and time to admire his fantastic ass. His thick hair is pushed back again, and his hands swing by his side in time with the motion of his glorious hips. He really is the whole package: sweet, polite, and beautiful, with all the physical attributes I value in a submissive. But the million-dollar question is, could he be a submissive? He probably knows nothing of the lifestyle – my lifestyle – but I very much want to introduce him to it. _You are getting way ahead of yourself on this deal, Styles._

“Are you in Portland on business?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts. His voice is high; he’s feigning disinterest. It makes me want to laugh. Men rarely make me want to laugh.

“I was visiting the WSU farming division. It’s based in Vancouver,” I lie. _Actually, I’m here to see you, Mr Tomlinson._

His face falls, and I feel like shit.

“I’m currently funding some research there in a crop rotation and soil science.” That, at least, is true.

“All part of your feed-the-world plan?” He arches his brow, amused.

“Something like that,” I mutter. _Is he laughing at me?_ Oh, I’d love to put a stop to that if he is. But how to start? Maybe with dinner, rather than the usual interview…now, that would be novel: taking a prospect out to dinner.

We arrive at the cable ties, which are arranged in the assortment of lengths and colours. Absentmindedly, my fingers trace over the packets _. I could just ask him out for dinner._ Like on a date? Would he accept? When I glance at him, he’s examining his knotted fingers. He can’t look at me…this is promising. I select the longer ties. They are more flexible, after all, as they can accommodate two ankles and two wrists at once.

“These will do.”

“Is there anything else?” he says quickly – either he’s being super-attentive or he wants to get me out of the store, I don’t know which.

“I’d like some masking tape.”

“Are you redecorating?”

“No, not redecorating.” _Oh, if only you knew…_

“This way,” he says. “Masking tape is in the decorating aisle.”

_Come on, Styles. You don’t have much time. Engage him in some conversation._

“Have you worked here long?” Of course, I already know the answer. Unlike some people, I do my research. For some reason he’s embarrassed. Christ, this boy is shy. I don’t have a hope in hell. He turns quickly and walks down the aisle toward the section labelled _Decorating._ I follow him eagerly, like a puppy.

“Four years,” he mumbles as we reach the masking tape. He bends down and grasps two rolls, each a different width.

“I’ll take that one.” The wider tape is much more effective as a gag. As he passes it to me, the tips of our fingers touch, briefly. It resonates in my groin. _Damn!_

He pales. “Anything else?” His voice is soft and husky.

_Christ, I’m having the same effect on him that he has one me. Maybe…_

“Some rope, I think.”

“This way.” He scoots up the aisle, giving me another chance to appreciate his fine ass.

“What sort were you after? We have synthetic and natural filament tope…twine…cable cord…”

_Shit – stop._ I groan inwardly, trying to chase away the image of him suspended from the ceiling in my playroom.

“I’ll take five yards of the natural filament rope, please.” It’s coarser and chafes more if you struggle against it… my rope of choice.

A tremor runs through his fingers, but he measures out five yards like a pro. Pulling a utility knife from his right pocket, he cuts the rope in one swift gesture, coils it neatly, and ties it off with a slipknot. Impressive.

“Were you a Boy Scout?”

“Organised group activities aren’t really my thing, Mr. Styles.”

“What is your thing, Louis?” His pupils dilate as I stare.

_Yes!_

“Books,” he answers.

“What kind of books?”

“Oh, you know. The usual. The classics. British literature, mainly.”

_British literature?_ The Brontë’s and Austen, I bet. All those romantic hearts-and-flowers types.

_That’s not good._

“Anything else you need?”

“I don’t know. What else would you recommend?” I want to see his reaction.

“For a do-it-yourselfer?” he asks, surprised.

I want to hoot with laughter. _Oh, baby, DIY is not my thing._ I nod, stifling my mirth. His eyes flick down my body and I tense. _He’s checking me out!_

“Coveralls,” he blurts out.

It’s the most unexpected thing I’ve heard him say since the “Are you gay?” question.

“You wouldn’t want to ruin your clothing.” He gestures to my jeans.

I can’t resist. “I could always take them off.”

“Um.” He flushes beet red and stares down.

I put him out of his misery. “I’ll take some coveralls. Heaven forbid I should ruin any clothing.” Without a word, he turns and walks briskly up the aisle, and I follow him in enticing wake.

“Do you need anything else?” he says, sounding breathless as he hands me a pair of blue coveralls. He’s mortified, eyes still cast down. _Christ, he does things to me._

“How’s the article coming along?” I ask, in the hope he might relax a little.

He looks up and gives me a brief smile. _Finally._

“I’m not writing it, Zayn is. Mr Malik. My roommate, he’s the writer. He’s very happy with it. He’s the editor of the newspaper, and he was devastated that he couldn’t do the interview in person.”

It’s the longest sentence he’s uttered since we first met, and he’s talking about someone else, not himself. _Interesting._

Before I can comment, he adds, “His only concern is that he doesn’t have any original photographs of you.”

The tenacious Mr Malik wants photographs. Publicity stills, eh? I can do that. It will allow me to spend time with the delectable Mr Tomlinson.

“What sort of photographs does he want?”

He gazes at me for a moment, then shakes his head, perplexed, not knowing what to say.

“Well, I’m around. Tomorrow, perhaps…” I can stay in Portland. Work from a hotel. A room at The Heathman, perhaps. I’ll need Taylor to come down, bring my laptop and some clothes. Or Liam – unless he’s screwing around, which is his usual MO over the weekend.

“You’d be willing to do a photoshoot?” He cannot contain his excitement.

I give him a brief nod. _Yeah, I want to spend more time with you…_

_Steady, Styles._

“Zayn will be delighted – if we can find a photographer.” He smiles and his face lights up like a cloudless dawn. He’s breath taking.

“Let me know tomorrow.” I pull my wallet out from my jeans. “My card. It has my cell number on it. You’ll need to call before ten in the morning.” And if he doesn’t, I’ll head back to Seattle and forget about this stupid venture.

The thought depresses me.

“Okay.” He continues to grin.

“Lou!” We both turn as a young man dressed in casual designer gear appears at the far end of the aisle. His eyes are all over Mr Louis Tomlinson. _Who the hell is this prick?_

“Er, excuse me for a moment. Mr. Styles.” He walks towards him, and the asshole engulfs him in a gorilla-like hug. My blood runs cold. It’s a primal response.

_Get your fucking paws off him._

I fist my hands and am only slightly mollified when he doesn’t return his hug.

They fall into a whispered conversation. Maybe Welch’s facts were wrong. Maybe this guy is his boyfriend. He looks the right age, and he can’t take his greedy little eyes off him. He holds him for a moment at arm’s length, examining him, then stands with his arm resting on his shoulder. It seems like a casual gesture, but I know he’s staking a claim and telling me to back off. Louis seems embarrassed, shifting foot to foot.

Shit. I should go. I’ve overplayed my hand. He’s with this guy. Then he says something else to him and moves out of his reach, touching his arm, not his hand, shrugging him off. It’s clear they aren’t close.

_Good._

“Er…Paul, this is Harry Styles. Mr. Styles, this is Paul Clayton. His brother owns the place.” He gives me an odd look that I don’t understand and continues, “I’ve known Paul ever since I’ve worked here, though we don’t see each other that often. He’s back from Princeton, where he’s studying business administration.” He’s babbling, giving me a long explanation and telling me they’re not together; I think. The boss’s brother, not a boyfriend. I’m relieved, but the extent of the relief I feel is unexpected, and it makes me frown. _This man had really gotten under my skin._

“Mr. Clayton.” My tone is deliberately clipped.

“Mr. Styles.” His handshake is limp, like his hair. _Asshole._ “Wait up – not _the_ Harry Styles? Of Styles Enterprises Holdings?”

_Yeah, that’s me, you prick._

In a heartbeat I watch him morph from territorial to obsequious.

“Wow – is there anything I can get you?”

“Louis has it covered, Mr. Clayton. He’s been very attentive.” _Now fuck off._

“Cool,” he gushes, all white teeth and deferential. “Catch you later, Lou.”

“Sure, Paul,” he says, and he ambles off to the back of the store. I watch him disappear.

“Anything else, Mr. Styles?”

“Just these items,” I mutter. _Shit,_ I’m out of time, and I still don’t know if I’m going to see him again. I have to know whether there’s a hope in hell he might consider what I have in mind. How can I ask him? Am I ready to take on a submissive who knows nothing? He’s going to need substantial training. I close my eyes; I imagine the interesting possibilities this presents…getting there is going to be half the fun. Will he even be up for this? Or do I have it all wrong?

He walks back to the cashier’s counter and rings up my purchases, all the while keeping his eyes on the register.

_Look at me damn it!_ I want to see his face again and gauge what he’s thinking.

Finally, he raises his head. “That will be forty-three dollars, please.”

_Is that all?_

“Would you like a bag?” he asks, as I pass him my AmEx.

“Please, Louis.” His name – a beautiful name for a beautiful boy – flows smoothly over my tongue.

He packs the items briskly. This is it. I have to go.

“You’ll call me if you want me to do the photoshoot?”

He nods and hands back my charge card.

“Good. Until tomorrow, perhaps.” I can’t just leave. I have to let him know I’m interested. “Oh – and Louis, I’m glad Mr Malik couldn’t do the interview.” He looks surprised and flattered.

_This is good._

I sling the bag over my shoulder and exit the store.

Yes, against my better judgment, I want him. Now I have to wait…fucking wait… again. Utilizing willpower that would make Nick proud, I keep my eyes ahead as I take my cell out of my pocket and climb into the rental car. I’m deliberately not looking back at him. I’m not. I’m not. My eyes flick to the rear-view mirror, where I can see the shop door, but all I see is the quaint storefront. He’s not in the window, starting out at me.

_It’s disappointing._

I press 1 on speed dial and Taylor answers before the phone has a chance to ring.

“Mr. Styles,” He says.

“Make reservations at The Heathman; I’m staying in Portland this weekend, and can you bring down the SUV, my computer, and the paperwork beneath it, and a change of two clothes.”

“Yes, sir. And _Charlie Tango?”_

“Have Joe move her to PDX.”

“Will do, sir. I’ll be with you in about three and a half hours.”

I hang up and start the car. So, I have a few hours in Portland while I wait to see if this boy is interested in me. What to do? Time fore a hike, I think. Maybe I can walk this strange hunger out of my system.

IT’S been five hours with no phone call from the delectable Mr Tomlinson. What the hell was I thinking? I watch the street from the window of my suite at The Heathman. I loathe waiting. I always have. The weather, now cloudy, held for my hike through Forest Park, but the walk has done nothing to cure my agitation. I’m annoyed at him for not phoning, but mostly I’m angry with myself. I’m a fool for being here. What a waste of time it’s been chasing this man. When have I ever chased a man?

_Styles, get a grip._

Sighing, I check my phone once again in the hope that I’ve just missed his call, but there’s nothing. At least Taylor has arrived and I have all my shit. I have Barney’s report on his department’s graphene tests to read and I can work in peace.

_Peace?_ I haven’t known peace since Mr Tomlinson fell into my office.

WHEN I glance up, dusk has shrouded my suite in gray shadows. The prospect of a night alone again is depressing. While I contemplate what to do my phone vibrates against the polished wood of the desk and an unknown but vaguely familiar number with a Washington area code flashes on the screen. Suddenly my heart is pumping as if I’ve run ten miles.

_Is it him?_

I answer.

“Er…Mr. Styles?” It’s Louis Tomlinson.”

My face erupts in a shit-eating grin. _Well, well._ A breathy, nervous, soft-spoken Mr Tomlinson. My evening is looking up.

“Mr Tomlinson. How nice to hear from you.” I hear his breath hitch and the sound travels directly to my groin.

_Great. I’m affecting him. Like he’s affecting me._

“Um – we’d like to go ahead with the photoshoot for the article. Tomorrow, if that’s okay. Where would be convenient for you, sir?”

_In my room. Just you, me, and the cable ties._

“I’m staying at The Heathman in Portland. Should we say nine thirty tomorrow morning?”

“Okay, we’ll see you there,” he gushes, unable to hide the relief and delight in his voice.

“I look forward to it, Mr Tomlinson.” I hang up before he senses my excitement and how pleased I am. Leaning back in my chair, I gaze at the darkening skyline and run both my hands through my hair.

How the hell am I going to close this deal?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!! I know how annoying it is to get your teeth into a good story and it only have a small amount of chapters up so I'll be trying to post ASAP for you xxx


	3. Coffee or Tea?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer! Not originally my story - work belongs to E L James, I just edit and tweak to fit my preferences. Characters do not belong to me.
> 
> Happy hump day. 
> 
> Enjoy x

** Sunday, May 15, 2011 **

With Moby blasting in my ears I run down Southwest Salmon Street toward the Willamette River. It’s 6:30 in the morning and I’m trying to clear my head. Last night I dreamed of him. Blue eyes, breathy voice…his sentences ending with “sir” as he knelt before me. Since I’ve met him, my dreams have been a welcome change from the occasional nightmare. I wonder what Flynn would make of that. The thought is disconcerting, so I ignore it and concentrate on pushing my body to its limits along the bank of the Willamette. As my feet pound the walkway, sunshine breaks through the clouds and it gives me hope.

TWO hours later as I jog back to the hotel, I pass a coffee shop. Maybe I should take him for coffee.

_Like a date?_

Well. No. Not a date. I laugh at the ridiculous thought. Just a chat – an interview of sorts. Then I can find out a little more about this enigmatic man and if he’s interested, or if I’m on a wild-goose chase. I’m alone in the elevator as I stretch out. Finishing my stretches in the hotel suite, I’m centred and calm for the first time since I arrived in Portland. Breakfast has been delivered and I’m famished. It’s not a feeling I tolerate – ever. Sitting down to breakfast in my sweats, I decide to eat before I shower.

THERE’S a brisk knock on the door. I open it and Taylor stands on the threshold.

“Good morning, Mr. Styles”

“Morning. They ready for me?”

“Yes, sir. They’re set up in room 601.”

“I’ll be right down.” I close the door and tuck my shirt into my gray pants. My hair is wet from my shower, but I don’t give a shit. One glance at the louche fucker in the mirror and I exit to follow Taylor to the elevator.

Room 601 is crowded with people, lights, and camera boxes, but I spot him immediately. He’s standing to the side. His hair is loose: lush, glossy strands falling into his eyes, coated lightly in gel but doing nothing to help hold it back. He’s wearing tight jeans and chucks with a short-sleeved navy jacket and a white T-shirt beneath. Are jeans and chucks his signature look? While not very convenient, they do flatter his thighs. His eyes, disarming as ever, widen as I approach.

“Mr Tomlinson, we meet again.” He takes my extended hand and for a moment I want to squeeze his and raise it to my lips.

_Don’t be absurd, Styles._

He turns a delicious pink and waves in the direction of his friend, who is standing too close, waiting for my attention.

“Mr. Styles, this is Zayn Malik,” he says. With reluctance I release him and turn to the persistent Mr Malik. He’s tall, striking, and well groomed, like his father, but he has his mother’s eyes, and I have him to thank for my introduction to the delightful Mr Tomlinson. That thought makes me feel a little more benevolent toward him.

“The tenacious Mr Malik. How do you do? I trust you’re feeling better? Louis said you were unwell last week.”

“I’m fine, thank you, Mr. Styles.”

He has a firm, confident handshake, and I doubt he’s ever faced a day of hardship in his privileged life. I wonder why these men are friends. They have nothing in common.

“Thank you for taking the time to do this,” Zayn says.

“It’s a pleasure,” I reply, and glance at Louis, who rewards me with his tell-tale flush.

Is it just me who makes him blush? The thought pleases me.

“This is Niall Horan, our photographer,” Louis says, and his face lights up as he introduces him.

_Shit. Is this the boyfriend?_

Horan blooms under Louis sweet smile.

_Are they fucking?_

“Mr. Styles.” Horan gives me a dark look as we shake hands. It’s a warning. He’s telling me to back off. He likes him. He likes him a lot.

_Well, game on, kid._

“Mr Horan, where would you like me?” My tone is a challenge, and he hears it, but Zayn intervenes and waves me toward a chair. Ah. He likes to be in charge. The thought amuses me as I sit. Another young man who appears to be working with Horan switches on the lights, and momentarily I’m blinded.

_Hell!_

As the glare recedes, I search out the lovely Mr Tomlinson. He’s standing at the back of the toom, observing the proceedings. Does he always shy away like this? Maybe that’s why he and Malik are friends; he’s content to be in the background and let Zayn take centre stage.

_Hmm…a natural submissive._

The photographer appears professional enough and absorbed in the job he’s been assigned to do. I regard Mr Tomlinson as he watches both of us. Our eyes meet; his are honest and innocent, and for a moment I reconsider my plan. But then he bites his lip and my breath catches in my throat.

 _Back down, Louis._ I will him to stop staring, and as if he can hear me, he’s the first to look away.

_Good boy._

Zayn asks me to stand as Horan continues to take snaps. Then we’re done and this is my chance.

“Thank you again, Mr. Styles.” Zayn surges forward and shakes my hand, followed by the photographer, who regards me with ill-concerned disapproval. His antagonism makes me smile.

_Oh, man… you have no idea._

“I look forward to reading the article, Mr Malik,” I say, giving him a brief polite nod. It’s Louis I want to talk to. “Will you walk with me, Mr Tomlinson?” I ask, when I reach him by the door.

“Sure,” he says with surprise.

_Seize the day, Styles._

I mutter some platitude to those still in the room and usher him out the door, wanting to put some distance between him and Horan. In the corridor he stands fiddling with his hair, then his fingers, as Taylor follows me out.

“I’ll call you, Taylor,” I say, and when he’s almost out of earshot I ask Louis to join me for coffee, my breath held for his response.

His long lashes flicker over his eyes. “I have to drive everyone home,” he says with dismay.

“Taylor,” I call after him, making Louis jump. I must make him nervous and I don’t know if this is good or bad. And he can’t stop fidgeting. Thinking about all the ways I could make him stop is distracting.

“Are they based at the University?” He nods and I ask Taylor to take his friends home.

“There. Now can you join me for coffee?”

“Um – Mr. Styles, er this really…” He stops.

 _Shit. It’s a “no.” I’m going to lose this deal._ He looks directly at me, eyes bright. “Look, Taylor doesn’t have to drive them home. I’ll swap vehicles with Zayn, if you give me a moment.”

My relief is tangible and I grin.

_I have a date!_

Opening the door, I let him back into the room as Taylor conceals his puzzled look.

“Can you grab my jacket, Taylor?”

“Certainly, sir.”

He turns on his heel, his lips twitching as he heads up the corridor. I watch him with narrowed eyes as he disappears into the elevator while I lean against the wall and wait for Mr Tomlinson.

What the hell am I going to say to him?

_“How would you like to be my submissive?”_

_No. Steady, Styles. Let’s take this one stage at a time._

Taylor is back within a couple of minutes, holding my jacket.

“Will that be all, sir?”

“Yes. Thanks.”

He gives it to me and leaves me standing like an idiot in the corridor.

How long is Louis going to be? I check my watch. He must be negotiating the car swap with Zayn. Or he’s talking to Horan, explaining that he’s just going for coffee to placate me and keep me sweet for the article. My thoughts darken. Maybe he’s kissing him good-bye.

_Damn._

He emerges a moment later, and I’m pleased. He doesn’t look like he’s just been kissed.

“Okay,” he says with resolve. “Let’s do coffee.” But his reddening cheeks somewhat undermine his effort to look confident.

“After you, Mr Tomlinson.” I conceal my delight as he falls into step ahead of me. As I catch up with him my curiosity is piqued about his relationship with Zayn, specifically their compatibility. I ask him how long they’ve known each other.

“Since our freshman year. He’s a good friend.” His voice is full of warmth. Louis is clearly devoted. He came all the way to Seattle to interview me when Zayn was ill, and I find myself hoping that Mr Malik treats him with the same loyalty and respect.

At the elevators I press the call button and almost immediately the doors open. A couple in a passionate embrace spring apart, embarrassed to be caught. Ignoring them, we step into the elevator, but I catch Louis’ impish smile.

As we travel to the first floor the atmosphere is thick with unfilled desire. And I don’t know if it’s emanating from the couple behind us or from me.

_Yes. I want him. Will he want what I have to offer?_

I’m relieved when the doors open again and I take his hand, which is cool and not clammy as expected. Perhaps I don’t affect him as much as I’d like. The thought is disheartening.

In our wake we hear embarrassed giggling from the couple.

“What is it about elevators?” I mutter. And I have to admit there’s something wholesome and naïve about their giggling that’s totally charming. Mr Tomlinson seems that innocent, just like them, and as we walk onto the street, I question my motives again.

He’s too young. He’s too inexperienced, but, damn, I like the feel of his hand in mine.

In the coffee shop I direct him to find a table and ask what he wants to drink. He stutters through his order: English Breakfast tea – hot water, bag on the side. That’s a new one to me.

“No coffee?”

“I’m not keen on coffee.”

“Okay, bag-out tea. Sugar?” “No thanks,” he says, staring down at his fingers.

“Anything to eat?”

“No thank you.” He shakes his head and brushes his hair out of his eyes, highlighting glints of auburn.

I have to wait in line while the two matronly women behind the counter exchange pleasantries will _all_ their customers. It’s frustrating and keeping me from my objective: Louis.

“Hey handsome, what can I get you?” the older woman asks with a twinkle in her eye. _It’s just a pretty face, sweetheart._

“I’ll have a coffee with steamed milk. English Breakfast tea. Teabag on the side. And a blueberry muffin.”

Louis might change his mind and eat.

“You visiting Portland?”

“Yes.”

“The weekend?”

“The weather sure has picked up today.”

“Yes.”

“I hope you get out to enjoy some sunshine.”

_Please stop talking to me and hurry the fuck up._

“Yes.” I hiss through my teeth and glance over at Louis, who quickly looks away.

_He’s watching me. Is he checking me out?_

A bubble of hope swells in my chest.

“There you go.” The woman winks and places the drinks on my tray. “Pay at the register, honey, and you have a nice day, now.”

I manage a cordial response. “Thank you.”

At the table Louis is staring at his fingers, reflecting on heaven knows what.

_Me?_

“Penny for your thoughts?” I ask.

He jumps and turn red as I set out his tea and my coffee. He sits mute and mortified. Why? Does he really not want to be here?

“Your thoughts?” I ask again, and he fidgets with the teabag.

“This is my favourite tea,” he says, and I revise my mental note that it’s Twining English Breakfast tea he likes. I watch him dunk the teabag in the teapot. It’s an elaborate and messy spectacle. He fishes it out almost immediately and places the used teabag on his saucer. My mouth is twitching with my amusement. When he tells me, he likes his tea weak and black, I wonder if it can be classed as tea at all.

Enough of this preamble; it’s time for some due diligence in this deal. “Is he your boyfriend?”

His brows knit together, forming a small _v_ above his nose.

“Who?”

_This is a good response._

“The photographer. Niall Horan.”

He laughs at me. At me.

_At me!_

And I don’t know if it’s a from of relief or if he thinks I’m funny. It’s annoying. I can’t get his measure. Does he like me or not? He tells me he’s just a friend.

_Oh, sweetheart, he wants to be more than a friend._

“Why did you think he was my boyfriend?” he asks.

“The way you smiled at him, and he at you.” _You have no idea, do you?_ The boy is smitten.

“He’s more like family,” he says.

Okay, so the lust is one-sided, and for a moment I wonder if he realises how lovely he is. He eyes the blueberry muffin as I peel back the paper, and for a moment I imagine him on his knees beside me as I feed him, a morsel at a time. The thought is diverting – and arousing. “Do you want some?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “No thanks.” His voice is hesitant and he stares once more at his hands. Why is he so jittery? Maybe because of me?

“And the boy I met yesterday, at the store? He’s not your boyfriend?”

“No. Paul’s just a friend. I told you yesterday.” He frowns again as if he’s confused, and crosses his arms in defence. He doesn’t like being asked about these boys. I remember how uncomfortable he seemed when the kid at the store put his arm around him, staking his claim. “Why do you ask?” he adds.

“You seem nervous around men.”

His eyes widen. They really are beautiful, the colour of the ocean at Cabo, the bluest of blue seas. I should take him there.

_What? Where did that come from?_

“I find you intimidating,” he says, and looks down, fidgeting once more with his fingers. On the one hand he’s so submissive, but on the other he’s…challenging.

“You should find me intimidating.”

Yeah. He should. There aren’t many people brave enough to tell me that I intimidate them. He’s honest, and I tell him so – but when he averts his eyes, I don’t know what he’s thinking. It’s frustrating. Does he like me? Or is he tolerating this meeting to keep Malik’s interview on track? Which is it?

“You’re a mystery, Mr Tomlinson.”

“There’s nothing mysterious about me.”

“I think you’re very self-contained.” Like any good submissive. “Except when you blush, of course, which is often. I just wish I knew what you were blushing about.” _There._ That will goad him into a response. Popping a small piece of the blueberry muffin into my mouth, I await his reply.

“Do you always make such personal observations?”

 _That’s not personal, is it?_ “I hadn’t realised I was. Have I offended you?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“But you’re very high-handed.”

“I’m used to getting my own way, Louis. In all things.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he mutters, and then wants to know why I haven’t asked him to call me by my first name.

_What?_

And I remember him leaving my office in the elevator – and how my name sounded coming out of his smart mouth. Has he seen through me? Is he deliberately antagonising me? I tell him that no one calls me Harry, except my family…

_I don’t even know if it’s my real name._

_Don’t go there, Styles._

I change the subject. I want to know about him.

“Are you an only child?”

His eyelashes flutter several times before he answers that he is.

“Tell me about your parents.”

He rolls his eyes and I have to fight the compulsion to scold him.

“My mom lives in Georgia with her new husband, Dan.  My stepdad lives in Montesano.”

Of course, I know all this from Welch’s background check, but it’s important to hear it from him. His lips soften with a fond smile when he mentions his stepdad.

“Your father?” I ask.

“My father died when I was a baby.”

For a moment I’m catapulted into my nightmares, looking at a prostate body on a grimy floor. “I’m sorry,” I mutter.

“I don’t remember him,” he says, dragging me back to the now. His expression is clear and bright, and I know that Mark Tomlinson has been a good father to this boy. His mother’s relationship with him, on the other hand – that remains to be seen.

“And your mother remarried?”

His laugh is bitter. “You could say that.” But he doesn’t elaborate. He’s one of the few men I’ve met who can sit in silence. Which is great, but not what I want at the moment.

“You’re not giving much away, are you?”

“Neither are you,” he parries.

_Oh, Mr Tomlinson. Game on._

And it’s with great pleasure and a smirk that I remind him that he’s interviewed me already. “I can recollect some quite probing questions.”

_Yes. You asked me if I was gay._

My statement has the desired effect and he’s embarrassed. He starts babbling about himself and a few details hit home. His mother is an incurable romantic. I suppose someone on their third marriage is embracing hope over experience. Is he like his mother? I can’t bring myself to ask him. If he says he is – then I have no hope. And I don’t want this interview to end. I’m enjoying myself too much.

I ask about his stepfather and he confirms my hunch. It’s obvious he loves him. His face is luminous when he talks about him: his job (he’s a carpenter), his hobbies (he likes European soccer and fishing). He preferred to live with him when his mother married again.

_Interesting._

He straightens his shoulders. “Tell me about _your_ parents,” he demands, in an attempt to divert the conversation from his family. I don’t like talking about mine, so I give him the bare details.

“My dad’s a lawyer, my mom is a paediatrician. They live in Seattle.”

“What do your siblings do?”

He wants to go there? I give him the short answer that Liam works in construction and Gemma is at a cooking school in Paris.

He listens, rapt. “I hear Paris is lovely,” he says with a dreamy expression.

“It’s beautiful. Have you been?”

“I’ve never left mainland USA.” The cadence in his voice falls, tinged with regret.

“Would you like to go?”

_First Cabo, now Paris? Get a grip, Styles._

“To Paris? Of course. But it’s England that I’d really like to visit.”

His face brightens with excitement. Mr Tomlinson wants to travel. But why England? I ask him.

“It’s the home of Shakespeare, Austen, The Brontë sisters, Thomas Hardy. I’d like to see the places that inspired those people to write such wonderful books.” It’s obvious this is his first love.

_Books._

He said as much in Clayton’s yesterday. That means I’m competing with Darcy, Rochester, and Angel Clare: impossible romantic heroes. Here’s the proof I needed. He’s and incurable romantic, like his mother – and this isn’t going to work. To add insult to injury, he looks at his watch. He’s done.

_I’ve blown this deal._

“I’d better go. I have to study,” he says. I offer to walk him back to his friend’s car, which means I’ll have the walk back to the hotel to make my case.

_But should I?_

“Thank you for the tea, Mr, Styles,” he says.

“You’re welcome, Louis. It’s my pleasure.” As I say the words, I realise that the last twenty minutes have been…enjoyable. Giving him my most dazzling smile, guaranteed to disarm, I offer him my hand, and as we walk back to The Heathman I can’t shake how agreeable his hand feels in mine.

 _Maybe this could work_.

“Do you always wear jeans?” I ask.

“Mostly,” he says, and it’s two strikes against him: incurable romantic who only wears jeans…I like my men in loose fit. I like them accessible.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks out of the blue, and it’s the third strike. I’m out of this fledging deal. He wants romance, and I can’t offer him that.

“No, Louis. I don’t do the boyfriend thing.”

Stricken with a frown, he turns abruptly and stumbles into the road.

“Shit, Lou!” I shout, tugging him toward me to stop him from falling in the path of an idiot cyclist who’s flying the wrong way up the street. All of a sudden, he’s in my arms clutching my biceps, staring up at me. His eyes are startled, and for the first time I notice a darker ring of blue circling his irises; they’re beautiful, more beautiful this close. His pupils dilate and I know I could fall into his gaze and never return. He takes a deep breath.

“Are you okay?” My voice sounds alien and distant, and I realise he’s touching me and I don’t care. My fingers caress his cheek. His skin is soft and smooth, and as I brush my thumb against his lower lip, my breath catches in my throat. His body is pressed against mine, and the feel of his chest and his heat through my shirt is arousing. He has a fresh, wholesome fragrance that reminds me of my grandfather’s apple orchard. Closing my eyes, I inhale, committing his scent to memory. When I open them and he’s still staring at me, entreating me, begging me, his eyes on my mouth.

_Shit. He wants me to kiss him._

And I want to. Just once. His lips are parted, ready, waiting. His mouth felt welcoming beneath my thumb.

_No. No. No. Don’t do this, Styles._

_He’s not the boy for you._

He wants hearts and flowers, and you don’t do that shit.

I close my eyes to blot him out and fight the temptation, and when I open them again, my decision is made. “Louis,” I whisper, “you should steer clear of me. I’m not the man for you.”

The little _v_ forms between his brows, and I think he’s stopped breathing.

“Breathe, Louis, breathe.” I have to let him go before I do something stupid, but I’m surprised at my reluctance. I want to hold him for a moment longer. “I’m going to stand you up and let you go.” I step back and he releases his hold on me, yet weirdly, I don’t feel any relief. I slide my hands to his shoulders to ensure he can stand. His expression clouds with humiliation. He’s mortified by my rebuff.

_Hell. I didn’t mean to hurt you._

“I’ve got this,” he says, disappointment ringing in his clipped tone. He’s formal and distant, but he doesn’t move out of my hold. “Thank you,” he adds.

“For what?”

“For saving me.”

And I want to tell him that I’m saving him from me…that it’s a noble gesture, but that’s not what he wants to hear. “That idiot was riding the wrong way. I’m glad I was here. I shudder to think what would have happened to you.” Now it’s me that’s babbling, and I still can’t let him go. I offer to sit with him in the hotel, knowing it’s a ploy to prolong my time with him, and only then do I release him.

He shakes his head, his back ramrod stiff, and wraps his arms around himself in a protective gesture. A moment later he bolts across the street and I have to hurry to keep up with him.

When we reach the hotel, he turns and faces me once more, composed. “Thanks for the tea and doing the photoshoot.” He regards me dispassionately and regret flares in my gut.

“Louis…I…” I can’t think what to say, except that I’m sorry.

“What Harry?” he snaps.

 _Whoa._ He’s mad at me, pouring all the contempt he can into each syllable of my name. It’s novel. And he’s leaving. And I don’t want him to go. “Good luck with your exams.”

His eyes flash with hurt and indignation. “Thanks,” he mutters, disdain in his tone. “Goodbye, Mr. Styles.” He turns away and strides up the street toward the underground garage. I watch him go, hoping that he’ll give me a second look, but he doesn’t. He disappears into the building, leaving in his wake a trace of regret, the memory of his beautiful blue eyes, and the scent of apple orchard in the fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoping to keep up the posting of a chapter a day! I hope you liked this, next few chapters get livelier :)
> 
> Thanks for reading x


	4. Why didn't you tell me there was danger? Why didn't you warn me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer! Not my story, all rights are owned by E L James. I edit this story, I do not own the characters mentioned.
> 
> Second upload in a day, you're welcome.
> 
> This chapter is a little shorter than the others, but still good!

** Thursday, May 19, 2011 **

_No!_ My scream bounces off the bedroom walls and wakes me from my nightmare. I’m smothered in sweat, with the stench of stale beer, cigarettes, and poverty in my nostrils and a lingering dread of drunken violence. Sitting up, I put my head in my hands as I try to calm my escalated heart rate and erratic breathing. It’s been the same for the last four nights. Glancing at the clock, I see it’s 3:00 a.m.

I have two major meetings tomorrow…today…and I need a clear head and some sleep. _Damn it, what I’d give for a good night’s sleep._ And I have a round of fucking golf with Bastille. I should cancel the golf; the thought of playing and losing darkens my already bleak mood.

Clambering out of bed, I wander down the corridor and into the kitchen. There, I fill a glass with water and catch a sight of myself, dressed only in pyjama pants, reflected in the glass wall at the other side of the room. I turn away in disgust.

You turned him down.

He wanted you.

_And you turned him down._

It was for his own good.

This has needled me for days now. His beautiful face appears in my mind without warning, taunting me. If my shrink was back from his vacation in England, I could call him. His psychobabble shit would stop me feeling this way.

_Styles, he was just a pretty boy._

Perhaps I need a distraction; a new sub, maybe. It’s been too long Since Samuel. I contemplate calling Nick in the morning. He always finds suitable candidates for me. But the truth is, I don’t want anyone new.

I want Louis.

His disappointment, his wounded indignation, and his contempt remain with me. He walked away without a backward glance. Perhaps I raised his hopes by asking him out for coffee, only to disappoint him.

Maybe I should find some way to apologise, then I can forget about this whole sorry episode and get the boy out of my head. Leaving the glass in the sink for my house-keeper to wash, I trudge back to bed.

THE radio alarm jolts to life at 5:45 as I’m staring at the ceiling. I haven’t slept and I’m exhausted.

_Fuck! This is ridiculous._

The programme on the radio is a welcome distraction until the second news item. It’s about the sale of a rare manuscript; an unfinished novel by Jane Austen called _The Watsons_ that’s being auctioned in London.

 _“Books,”_ he said.

 _Christ._ Even the news reminds me of little Mr Bookworm.

He’s an incurable romantic who loves English classics. But then so do I, but for different reasons. I don’t’ have any Jane Austen first editions, or Brontë’s, for that matter…but I do have two Thomas Hardy’s.

 _Of course!_ This is it! This is what I can do.

Moments later I’m in the library with _Jude the Obscure_ and a boxed set of _Tess of the d’Urbervilles_ in its three volumes laid out on the billiard table in front of me. Both are bleak books, with tragic themes. Hardy had a dark, twisted soul.

_Like me._

I shake off the thought and examine the books. Even though _Jude_ is in better condition, it’s no contest. In _Jude_ there is no redemption, so I’ll send him _Tess_ , with a suitable quote. I know it’s not the most romantic book, considering the evils that befall the heroine, but she has a brief taste of romantic love in the bucolic idyll that is the English countryside. And Tess does exact revenge on the man who wronged her.

But that’s not the point. Louis mentioned Hardy as a favourite and I’m sure he’s never seen, let alone owned, a first edition.

_“You sound like the ultimate consumer.”_

His judgmental retort from the interview comes back to haunt me. Yes. I like to possess things, things that rise in value, like first editions.

Feeling calmer and more composed, and a little pleased with myself, I head back into my closet and change into my running gear.

IN the back of the car I leaf through book one of the _Tess_ first edition, looking for a quote, and at the same time wonder when Louis’ last exam will take place. I read the book years ago and have a hazy recollection of the plot. Fiction was my sanctuary when I was a teenager. My mother always marvelled that I read; Liam not so much. I craved the escape that fiction provided. He didn’t need an escape.

“Mr. Styles.” Taylor interrupts. “We’re here, sir.” He climbs out of the car and opens my door. “I’ll be outside at two o’clock to take you to your golf game.”

I nod and head into Styles house, the books tucked under my arm. They young receptionist greets me with a flirtatious wave.

_Every day…Like a cheesy tune on repeat._

Ignoring her, I make my way to the elevator that will take me straight to my floor.

“Good morning, Mr. Styles,” Barry on security greets me as he presses the button to summon the elevator.

“How’s your son, Barry?”

“Better, sir.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

I step into the elevator and it shoots up to the twentieth floor. Andrea is on hand to greet me.

“Good morning, Mr. Styles. Ros wants to see you to discuss the Darfur project. Barney would like a few minutes – “

I hold my hand up to silence her. “Forget those for now. Get me Welch on the line and find out when Flynn is back from vacation. Once I’ve spoken to Welch, we can pick up the day’s schedule.

“Yes, sir.”

“And I need a double espresso. Get Olivia to make it for me.”

But looking around I notice Olivia is absent. It’s a relief. The girl is always mooning over me and it’s fucking irritating.

“Would you like milk, sir?” Andrea asks.

 _Good girl._ I give her a smile.

“Not today.” I do like to keep them guessing how I take my coffee.

“Very good, Mr.Styles.” She looks pleased with herself, which she should be. She’s the best PA I’ve had.

Three minutes later she has Welch on the line.

“Welch?”

“Mr. Styles.”

“The background check you did for me last week. Louis Tomlinson. Studying at WSU.”

“Yes, sir. I remember.”

“I’d like you to find out when his last final exam takes place and let me know as a matter of priority.”

“Very good, sir. Anything else?”

“No, that will be all.” I hang up and stare at the books on my desk. I need to find a quote.

ROS, my number two and my chief operating officer, is in full flow. “We’re getting clearance from the Sudanese authorities to put the shipments into Port Sudan. But our contacts on the ground are hesitant about the road journey to Darfur. They’re doing a risk assessment to see how viable it is.” Logistics must be tough; her normal sunny disposition is absent.

“We could always air-drop.”

“Harry, the expense of an airdrop – “

“I know. Let’s see what our NGO friends come back with.”

“Okay,” she says and sighs. “I’m also waiting for the all-clear from the State Department.”

I roll my eyes. Fucking red tape. “If we have to grease some palms – or get Senator Blandino to intervene – let me know.”

“So, the next topic is where to site the new plant. You know the tax breaks in Detroit are huge. I sent you a summery.”

“I know. But God, does it have to be Detroit?”

“I don’t know what you have against the place. It meets our criteria.”

“Okay, get Bill to check out the potential brownfield sites. And let’s do one more site search to see if any other municipality would offer more favourable terms.”

“Bill has already sent Ruth out there to meet with the Detroit Brownfield Redevelopment Authority, who couldn’t be more accommodating, but I’ll ask Bill to do a final check.”

My phone buzzes.

“Yes,” I growl at Andrea – she knows I hate being interrupted in a meeting.

“I have Welch for you.”

My watch says 11:30. That was quick.

“Put him through.”

I signal for Ros to stay.

“Mr. Styles?”

“Welch. What news?”

“Mr Tomlinson’s last exam is tomorrow, May twentieth.”

_Damn. I don’t have long._

“Great. That’s all I need to know.” I hang up.

“Ros, bear with me one moment.”

I pick up the phone. Andrea answers immediately.

“Andrea, I need a blank notecard to write a message within the next hour,” I say, and hang up. “Right, Ros, where were we?”

AT 12:30 Olivia shuffles into my office with lunch. She’s a tall, willowy girl with a pretty face. Sadly, it’s always misdirected at me with longing. She’s carrying a tray with what I hope is something edible. After a busy morning, I’m starving. She trembles as she puts in on my desk.

Tuna salad. Okay. She hasn’t fucked this up for once.

She also places three different white cards, all different sizes, with corresponding envelopes on my desk.

“Great.” I mutter. _Now go._ She scuttles out.

I take one bite of tune to assuage my hunger, then reach for my pen. I’ve chosen a quote. A warning. I made the correct choice, walking away from him. Not all men are romantic heroes. I’ll take the word “men-folk” out. He’ll understand.

_Why didn’t you tell me there was danger? Why didn’t you warn me? Ladies know what to guard against, because they read novels that tell them of these tricks…_

I slip the card into the envelope provided and on it write Louis address, which is ingrained in my memory from Welch’s background check. I buzz Andrea.

“Yes, Mr. Styles.”

“Can you come in, please?”

“Yes, sir.”

She appears at my door a moment later. “Mr. Styles?”

“Take these, package them, and courier them to Louis Tomlinson, the boy who interviewed me last week. Here’s his address.”

“Right away, Mr. Styles.”

“They have to arrive by tomorrow at the latest.”

“Yes, sir. Will that be all?”

“No. Find me a set of replacements.”

“For these books?”

“Yes. First editions. Get Olivia on it.”

“What books are these?”

_“Tess of the d’Urbervilles.”_

“Yes, sir.” She gives me a rare smile and leaves my office.

_Why is she smiling?_

She never smiles. Dismissing the thought, I wonder if that will be the last I see of the books, and I have to acknowledge that deep down I hope not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed reading :)
> 
> Talk to me in the comments!!


	5. Yes, sweetheart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer! This work is originally by E L James, all rights belong to her. I do not own the characters mentioned, I edit this story.
> 
> You smell that? 
> 
> Sweet, sweet fluff.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

** Friday, May 20, 2011 **

I’ve slept well for the first time in five days. Maybe I’m feeling the closure I had hoped for, now that I’ve sent those books to Louis. As I shave, the asshole in the mirror stares back at me with cool, green eyes.

_Liar._

_Fuck._

_Okay. Okay._ I’m hoping he’ll call. He has my number.

Mrs. Jones looks up when I walk into the kitchen.

“Good morning, Mr. Styles.”

“Morning, Gail.”

“What would you like for breakfast?”

“I’ll have an omelette. Thank you.” I sit at the kitchen counter as she prepares my food and leaf through _The Wall Street Journal_ and _The New York Times,_ then I pore over _The Seattle Times_. While I’m lost in the papers my phone buzzes.

It’s Liam. What the hell does my big brother want?

“Liam?”

“Dude. I need to get out of Seattle this weekend. This guy is all over my junk and I’ve got to get away.”

“Your junk?”

“Yeah. You would know if you had any.”

I ignore his jibe, and then a devious thought occurs to me. “How about hiking around Portland. We could go this afternoon. Stay down there. Come home Sunday.”

“Sounds cool. In the chopper, or do you want to drive?”

“It’s a helicopter, Liam, and I’ll drive us down. Come by the office at lunchtime and we’ll head out.”

“Thanks, bro. I owe you.” Liam hangs up.

Liam has always had a problem containing himself. As do the men and women he associates with: whoever the unfortunate boy is, he’s just another in a long, long line of his casual liaisons.

“Mr. Styles. What would you like to do for food this weekend?”

“Just prepare something light and leave it in the fridge. I may be back on Saturday.”

Or I may not.

_He didn’t give you a second glance, Styles._

Having spent a great deal of my working life managing others’ expectations, I should be better at managing my own.

LIAM sleeps most of the way to Portland. Poor fucker must be fried. Working and fucking: that’s Liam’s raison d’etre. He sprawls out in the passenger seat and snores.

Some company he’s going to be.

It’ll be after three when we arrive in Portland, so I call Andrea on the hands-free.

“Mr. Styles,” she answers in two rings.

“Can you have two mountain bikes delivered to The Heathman?”

“For what time, sir?”

“Three.”

“The bikes are for you and your brother?”

“Yes.”

“Your brother is about six-two?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll get on it right away.”

“Great.” I hang up, then call Taylor.

“Mr. Styles,” he answers on one ring.

“What time will you be here?”

“I’ll check in around nine o’clock tonight.”

“Will you bring the R8?”

“With pleasure, sir.” Taylor is a car fanatic too.

“Good.” I end the call and turn up the music. Let’s see if Liam can sleep though The Verve.

As we cruise down I-5 my excitement mounts.

Have the books been delivered yet? I’m tempted to call Andrea again, but I know I’ve left her with a ton of work. Besides, I don’t want to give my staff an excuse to gossip. I don’t normally do this kind of shit.

_Why did you send them in the first place?_

_Because I want to see him again._

We pass the exit for Vancouver and I wonder is he’s finished his exam.

“Hey, man, where we at?” Liam blurts.

“Behold, he wakes,” I mutter.  “We’re nearly there. We’re going mountain biking.”

“We are?”

“Yes.”

“Cool. Remember when Dad used to take us?”

“Yep.” I shake my head at the memory. My father is a polymath, a real renaissance man: academic, sporting, at ease in the city, more at ease in the great outdoors. He’d embraced three adopted kids…and I’m the one who didn’t live up to his expectations.

But before I hit adolescence, we had a bond. He used to love taking us camping and doing all the outdoor pursuits I now enjoy: sailing, kayaking, biking, we did it all.

Puberty ruined all that for me.

“I figured if we were arriving mid-afternoon, we wouldn’t have time for a hike.”

“Good thinking.”

“So, who are you running from?”

“Man, I’m a love- ‘em-and-leave- ‘em-type. You know that. No strings. I don’t know, they find out you run your own business and they start getting crazy ideas.” He gives me a sideways look. “You’ve got the right idea keeping your dick to yourself.”

“I don’t think we’re discussing my dick; we’re discussing yours, and who’s been on the sharp end of it recently.”

Liam snickers. “I’ve lost count. Anyway, enough of me. How’s the stimulating world of commerce and high finance?”

“You really want to know?” I shoot him a glance.

“Nah,” he bleats and I laugh at his apathy and lack of eloquence.

“How’s the business?” I ask.

“You checking on your investment?”

“Always.” It’s my job.

“Well, we broke ground on the Spokani Eden project last week and it’s on schedule, but then it’s only been a week.” He shrugs. Beneath his somewhat casual exterior my brother is an eco-warrior. His passion for sustainable living makes for some heated, Sunday dinner conversations with the family, and his latest project is an eco-friendly development of low-cost housing of Seattle.

“I’m hoping to install that new gray-water system I was telling you about. It will mean all the homes will reduce their water usage and their bills by twenty-five-percent.”

“Impressive.”

“I hope so.”

We drive in silence into downtown Portland and just as we’re pulling into the underground garage at The Heathman – the last place I saw him – Liam mutters, “You know we’re missing the Mariners game this evening.”

“Maybe you can have a night in front of the TV. Give your dick a rest and watch baseball.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

KEEPING up with Liam is a challenge. He tears down the trail with the same devil-may-fucking-care attitude he applies to most situations.  Liam knows no fear – it’s why I admire him. But riding at this pace I have no chance to appreciate our surroundings. I’m vaguely aware of the lush greenery flashing past me, but my eyes are on the trail, trying to avoid the potholes.

By the end of the ride we’re both filthy and exhausted.

“That was the most fun I’ve had with my clothes on in a while,” Liam says as we hand the bikes over to the bellboy at The Heathman.

“Yeah,” I mutter, and then recall holding Louis when I saved him from the cyclist. His warmth, his chest pressed against me, his scent invading my senses.

I had my clothes on then…” Yeah,” I murmur again.

We check our phones in the elevator as we head up to the top floor.

I have e-mails, a couple of texts from Nick asking what I’m doing this weekend, but no missed calls from Louis. It’s just before 7:00 – he must have received the books by now. The thought depresses me: I’ve come all the way to Portland on a wild-goose chase again.

“Man, that guy has called me five times and sent me four texts. Doesn’t he know how desperate he comes across?” Liam whines.

“Maybe he’s pregnant.”

Liam pales and I laugh.

“Not funny, hotshot.” He grumbles. “Besides, I haven’t known him that long. Or that often.”

AFTER a quick shower I join Liam in his suite and we sit down to watch the rest of the Mariners game against the San Diego Padres. We order steak, salad, and a couple of beers, and I sit back to enjoy the game in Liam’s easy company. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that Louis’ not going to call. That Mariners are in the lead and it looks like it might be a blowout.

Disappointingly it isn’t, though the Mariners win 4-1.

 _Go Mariners!_ Liam and I clink beer bottles.

As the postgame analysis drones on, my phone buzzes and Mr Tomlinson’s number flashes on the screen.

_It’s him._

“Louis?” I don’t hide my surprise or my pleasure. The background is noisy and it sounds like he’s at a party or in a bar. Liam glances at me, so I get up off the sofa and out of his earshot.

“Why did you send me the books?” He’s slurring his words, and a wave of apprehension ripples down my spine.

“Louis, are you okay? You sound strange.”

“I’m not the strange one, you are.” His tone is accusatory.

“Louis, have you been drinking?”

 _Hell._ Who is he with? The photographer? Where’s his friend Zayn?

“What’s it to you?” He sounds surly and belligerent, and I know he’s drunk, but I also need to know that he’s okay.

“I’m…curious. Where are you?”

“In a bar.”

“Which bar?” _Tell me._ Anxiety blooms in my gut. He’s a young man, drunk, somewhere in Portland. He’s not safe.

“A bar in Portland.”

“How are you getting home?” I pinch the bridge of my nose on the vain hope that the action will distract me from my fraying temper.

“I’ll find a way.”

 _What the hell?_ Will he drive? I ask him again which bar he’s in and he ignores my question.

“Why did you send me the books, Harry?”

“Louis, where are you? Tell me now.”

How will he get home?

“You’re so…domineering.” He giggles.

In any other situation I would find this charming. But right now – I want to show him how domineering I can be. He’s driving me crazy.

“Lou, so help me, where the fuck are you?”

_He giggles again. Shit, he’s laughing at me!_

_Again!_

“I’m in Portland… ‘s a long way from Seattle.”

“Where in Portland?”

“Goodnight, Harry.” The line goes dead.

“Louis!”

He hung up on me! I stare at the phone in disbelief. No one has ever hung up on me. _What the fuck!_

“What’s the problem?” Liam calls over from the sofa.

“I’ve just been drunk-dialled,” I peer at him and his mouth drops open in surprise.

“You?”

“Yep.” I press the callback button, trying to contain my temper, my anxiety.

“Hi,” he says, all breathy and timid, and he’s in quieter surroundings.

“I’m coming to get you.” My voice is arctic as I wrestle with my anger and snap my phone shut.

“I’ve got to go get this boy and take him home. Do you want to come?”

Liam is staring at me as if I’ve grown three heads.

“You? With a dude? This I have to see.” Liam grabs his sneakers and starts putting them on.

“I just have to make a call.” I wander into his bedroom while I decide if I should call Barney or Welch. Barney is the most senior engineer in the telecommunications division of my company. He’s a tech genius. But what I want is not strictly legal.

_Best to keep this away from my company._

I speed-dial Welch and within seconds his rasping voice answers.

“Mr. Styles?”

“I’d really like to know where Louis Tomlinson is right now.”

“I see.” He pauses for a moment. “Leave it to me, Mr. Styles.”

I know this is outside of the law, but he could be getting himself into trouble.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll get back to you in a couple of minutes.”

Liam is rubbing his hands with glee, with a stupid smirk on his face when I return to the living room.

_Oh, for fucks sake._

“I wouldn’t mis this for the world,” he says, gloating.

“I’m just going to get the car keys. I’ll meet you in the garage in five,” I growl, ignoring his smug face.

THE bar is crowded, full of students determined to have a good time. There’s some indie crap thumping over the sound system and the dance floor is crowded with heaving bodies.

It makes me feel old.

_He’s here somewhere._

Liam has followed me in through the front door. “Do you see him?” he shouts over the noise. Scanning the room, I spot Zayn Malik. He’s with a group of friends, all of them men, sitting in a booth. There’s no sign of Louis, but the table is littered with shot glasses and tumblers of beer.

Well, lets see if Mr Malik is as loyal to his friend as Lou is to him.

He looks at me in surprise when we arrive at his table.

“Zayn,” I say by way of greeting, and he interrupts me before I can ask him Louis’ whereabouts.

“Harry, what a surprise to see you here,” he shouts above the noise. The three guys at the table regard Liam and me with hostile wariness.

“I was in the neighbourhood.”

“And who’s this?” He smiles rather too brightly at Liam, interrupting me again. What an exasperating man.

“This is my brother Liam. Liam, Zayn Malik. Where’s Louis?”

His smile broadens at Liam, and I’m surprised by his answering grin.

“I think he went outside for some fresh air,” Malik responds, but he doesn’t look at me. He has eyes only for Mr. Love ‘Em and Leave ‘Em. Well, it’s his funeral.

“Outside? Where?” I shout.

“Oh. That way,” He points to the double doors at the far end of the bar.

Pushing through the throng, I make my way to the door, leaving the three disgruntled men and Malik and Liam engaged in a grin-off.

Through the double doors there is a line for the men’s washroom, and beyond that a door that’s open to the outside. It’s at the back of the bar. Ironically, it leads to the parking lot where Liam and I have just been.

Walking outside, I find myself in a gathering space adjacent to the parking lot – a hangout flanked by raised flowerbeds, where a few people are smoking, drinking, chatting. Making out. I spot him

 _Hell_! He’s with the photographer, I think, though it’s difficult to tell in the dim light. He’s in his arms, but he seems to be twisting away from him. He mutters something to Louis, which I don’t hear, and kisses him, along his jaw.

“Niall, no,” he says, and then it’s clear.

He’s trying to push him off.

_He doesn’t want this._

For a moment I want to rip his head off. With my hands fisted at my side I march up to them. “I think the gentleman said no.” My voice carries, cold and sinister, in the relative quiet, while I struggle to contain my anger.

He releases Louis and he squints at me with a dazed, drunken expression.

“Styles,” the photographer says, his voice terse and it takes every ounce of my self-control not to smash the disappointment off his face.

Louis heaves, then buckles over and vomits on the ground.

_Oh, shit!_

“Ugh – My god, Lou!” Niall leaps out of the way in disgust.

Fucking idiot.

Ignoring him, I grab Louis and push his hair from his sweaty forehead to keep it out of his face as he continues to throw up everything he’s had this evening. It’s with some annoyance that I note he doesn’t appear to have eaten. With my arm around his shoulders I lead him away from the curious onlookers toward one of the flowerbeds.

“If you’re going to throw up again, do it here. I’ll hold you.” It’s darker here. He can puke in peace. He vomits again and again, his hands on the brick. It’s pitiful. Once his stomach is empty, he continues to retch, long dry heaves.

_Boy, he’s got it bad._

Finally, his body relaxes and I think he’s finished. Releasing him, I give him my handkerchief, which by some miracle I have in the inside of my pocket of my jacket.

_Thank you, Mrs. Jones._

Wiping his mouth, he turns and rests against the bricks, avoiding eye contact because he’s ashamed and embarrassed. And yet I’m pleased to see him. Gone is my fury at the photographer. I’m delighted to be standing in the parking lot of a student bar in Portland with Mr Louis Tomlinson.

He puts his head in his hands, cringes, the peeks up at me, still mortifies. Turning to the door, he glares over my shoulder. I assume it’s at his “friend.”

“I’ll, um, see you inside,” Niall says, but I don’t turn to stare him down, and to my delight, Lou ignores him, too, returning his eyes to mine.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally, while his fingers twist the soft linen.

_Okay, let’s have some fun._

“What are you sorry for, Louis?”

“The phone call, mainly. Being sick. Oh, the list is endless,” he mumbles.

“We’ve all been here, perhaps not quite as dramatically as you.” Why is it such fun to tease this young man? “It’s about knowing your limits, Louis. I mean, I’m all for pushing limits, but really this is beyond the pale. Do you make a habit of this kind of behaviour?”

Perhaps he has a problem with alcohol. The thought is worrying, and I consider whether I should call my mother for a referral to a detox clinic.

Louis frowns for a moment, as if angry, that little _v_ forming between his brows, and I suppress the urge to kiss it. But when he speaks, he sounds contrite.

“No,” he says. “I’ve never been drunk before and right now I have no desire to ever be again.” He looks up at me, his eyes unfocused, and he sways a little. He might pass out, so without giving it a thought I scoop him up into my arms.

He’s surprisingly light. Too light. The thought irks me. No wonder he’s drunk.

“Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“I need to tell Zayn,” he says, as his head rests on my shoulder.

“My brother can tell him.”

“What?”

“My brother Liam is talking to Mr Malik.”

“Oh?”

“He was with me when you called.”

“In Seattle?”

“No, I’m staying at The Heathman.”

And my wild-goose chase has paid off.

“How did you find me?”

“I tracked your cell phone, Louis.” I head toward the car. I want to drive him home. “Do you have a jacket or a bag?”

“Er…yes, I came with both. Harry, please, I need to tell Zayn. He’ll worry.”

I stop and bite my tongue. Malik wasn’t worried about him being out here with the over amorous photographer. _Niall._ That’s his name. What kind of _friend_ is he?

The lights from the bar illuminate his anxious face.

As much as it pains me, I put him down and agree to take himself inside. Holding hands, we walk back into the bar, stopping at Zayn’s table. One of the young men is still sitting there, looking annoyed and abandoned.

“Where’s Zayn?” Louis shouts above the noise.

“Dancing,” the guy says, his dark eyes staring at the dance floor. Louis collects his jacket and bag and, reaching out, he unexpectantly clutches my arm.

I freeze.

_Shit._

My heart rate catapults into overdrive as the darkness surfaces, stretching and tightening it’s claws around my throat.

“He’s on the dancefloor,” he shouts, his words tickling my ear, distracting me from my fear. And suddenly the darkness disappears and the pounding in my heart ceases.

_What?_

I roll my eyes to hide my confusion and take him to the bar, order a large glass of water, and pass it to him.

“Drink.”

Eyeing me over the glass, he takes a tentative sip.

“All of it,” I command. I’m hoping this will be enough damage control to avoid one hell of a hangover tomorrow.

What might have happened to him if I hadn’t intervened? My mood sinks.

And I think of what just happened to me.

_His touch. My reaction._

My mood plummets further.

Louis sways a little as he’s drinking, so I steady him with a hand on his shoulder. I like the connection – me touching him. He’s oil in my troubled, deep, dark waters.

_Hmm…flowery, Styles._

He finishes his drink, and retrieving the glass, I place it on the bar.

Okay. He wants to talk to his so-called friend. I survey the crowded dance floor, uneasy at the thought of all those bodies pressing in on me as we fight our way through.

Steeling myself, I grab his hand and lead him toward the dancefloor. He hesitates, but if he wants to talk to his friend, there’s only one way; he’s going to have to dance with me. Once Liam gets his groove on, there’s no stopping him; so much for his quiet night in.

With a tug, he’s in my arms.

This I can handle. When I know he’s touching me, it’s okay. I can deal, especially since I’m wearing my jacket. I weave us through the crowd to where Liam and Zayn are making a spectacle of themselves.

Still dancing, Liam leans toward me in mid-strut when we’re beside him and sizes us up with a look of incredulity.

“I’m taking Louis home. Tell Zayn,” I shout in his ear.

He nods and pulls Malik into his arms.

 _Right._ Let me take Mr Drunk Bookworm home, but for some reason he seems reluctant to go. He’s watching Malik with concern. When we’re off the dancefloor he looks back at Zayn, then at me, swaying and a little dazed.

“Fuck – “By some miracle I catch him as he passes out in the middle of the bar. I’m tempted to haul him over my shoulder, but we’d be too conspicuous, so I pick him up once more, cradling him against my chest, and take him outside to the car.

“Christ,” I mutter as I fish the key out of my jeans and hold him at the same time. Amazingly, I manage to get him into the front seat and strap him in.

“Lou.” I give him a little shake, because he’s worryingly quiet. “Louis!”

He mumbles something incoherent and I know he’s still conscious. I know I should take him home, but it’s a long drive to Vancouver, and I don’t know if he’ll be sick again. I don’t relish the idea of my Audi reeking of vomit. The smell emanating from him clothes is already noticeable.

I head to The Heathman, telling myself that I’m doing this for his sake.

_Yeah, tell yourself that, Styles._

HE sleeps in my arms as we travel up in the elevator from the garage. I need to get him out of his jeans and his shoes. The stale stench of vomit pervades the space. I’d really like to give him a bath, but that would be stepping beyond the bounds of propriety.

_And this isn’t?_

In my suite, I drop his bag on the sofa, then carry him into the bedroom and lay him down on the bed. He mumbles once more but doesn’t wake.

Briskly I remove his shoes and socks and put them in the plastic laundry bag provided by the hotel. Then I unzip his jeans and pull them off, check the pockets before stuffing the jeans in the laundry bag. He falls back on the bed, splayed out like a starfish, all tanned arms and legs, and for a moment I picture those legs wrapped around my waist as his writs are bound to my Saint Andrew’s cross. There’s a fading bruise on his knee and I wonder if that’s from the fall he took in my office.

He’s been marked since then…like me.

I sit him up and he opens his eyes.

“Hello, Lou,” I whisper, as I remove his jacket slowly and without his cooperation.

“Styles. Lips,” he mutters.

“Yes, sweetheart.” I ease him down onto the bed. He closes his eyes again and rolls onto his side, but this time huddles into a ball, looking small and vulnerable. I pull the covers over him and plant a kiss in his hair. Now that his filthy clothes have gone, a trace of his scent has reappeared. Apples, fall, fresh, delicious…Louis. His lips are parted, eyelashes fanning out over pale cheeks, and his skin looks flawless. One more touch is all I allow myself as I stroke his cheek with the back of my index finger.

“Sleep well,” I murmur, and then head into the living room to complete the laundry list. When it’s done, I place the offending bag outside my suite so the contents will be collected and laundered.

Before I check my e-mails, I text Welch, asking him to see if Niall Horan has any police records. I’m curious. I want to know if he preys on drunk young men. Then I address the issue of clothes for Mr Tomlinson. I send a quick e-mail to Taylor.

 **From:** Harry Styles

 **RE:** Mr Louis Tomlinson

 **Date:** May 20, 2011 23:46

 **To:** J B Taylor

Good morning,

Can you find the following items for Mr Tomlinson and have them delivered to my usual room before 10:00.

Jeans: Blue Denim Size 4

Blouse: Blue. Pretty. Size 4

Converse: Black Size 7

Socks: Size 7

Underwear: Estimate Size Small

Thank you.

Harry Styles

CEO, Styles Enterprise Holdings, Inc.

Once it’s disappeared from my outbox, I text Liam.

Louis is with me.

If you’re still with Zayn, tell him.

He texts by return:

Will do.

Hope you get laid.

You soooo need it 😉

His response makes me snort.

I so do, Liam. I so do.

I open my work e-mail and begin to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for readingggg x


	6. Another First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer! Not my story, E.L James owns all rights. Characters not mine!!
> 
> Soo sorry for not posting for a few days, busy weekend and then seeing Harry at the Met Gala did me over
> 
> Anyway, enjoy :)

** Saturday, May 21, 2011 **

Nearly two hours later, I come to bed. It’s just after 1:45. He’s fast asleep and hasn’t moved from where I left him. I strip, pull on my PJ pants and a T-shirt, and climb in beside him. He’s comatose; it’s unlikely he’s going to thrash around and touch me. I hesitate for a moment as the darkness swells within me, but it doesn’t surface and I know it’s because I’m watching the hypnotic rise and fall of his chest and Im breathing in sync with him. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. For seconds, minutes, hours, I don’t know, I watch him. And while he sleeps, I survey every beautiful inch of his lovely face. Hi dark lashes fluttering while he sleeps, his lips slightly parted so I glimpse his even white teeth. He mutters something unintelligible and his tongue darts out and licks his lips. It’s arousing, very arousing. Finally, I fall into a deep and dreamless sleep.

IT’S quiet when I open my eyes, and I’m momentarily disorientated. Oh yes. I’m at The Heathman. The clock at my bedside says 7:43.

When was the last time I slept this late?

_Lou._

Slowly I turn my head, and he’s fast asleep, facing me. His beautiful face soft in repose.

I have never slept with a man. I’ve fucked many, but to wake up beside an alluring young man is a new and stimulating experience. My cock agrees.

_This will not do._

Reluctantly, I climb out of bed and change into my running gear. I need to burn off this…excess energy. As I change into my sweats, I can’t remember that last time I slept so well.

In the living room, I fire up my laptop, check my e-mail, and respond to two from Ros and one from Andrea. It takes me a little longer than usual, as I’m distracted knowing that Louis is asleep in the next room. I wonder how he’ll feel when he wakes.

Hungover. _Ah._

In the minibar I find a bottle of orange juice and empty it into a glass. He’s still asleep when I enter, his hair a riot of mahogany across the stark white pillow, and the covers have slipped below his waist. His T-shirt has ridden up, exposing his belly and his navel. The sight stirs my body once more.

_Stop standing here ogling the boy, for fuck’s sake, Styles._

I have to get out of here before I do something I’ll regret. Placing the glass on the bedside table, I duck into the bathroom, find two Advil in my travel kit, and deposit them beside the glass of orange juice.

With one last lingering look at Louis Tomlinson – the first man I’ve ever slept with – I head out for my run.

WHEN I return from my exercise, there’s a bag in the living room from a store I don’t recognise. I take a peek and see it contains clothes for Louis. From what I can see, Taylor has done well – and all before 9:00.

_The man is a marvel._

His bag is on the sofa where I dropped it last night, and on the door to the bedroom is closed, so I assume he’s not left and that he’s still asleep.

It’s a relief. Poring over the room-service menu, I decide to order some food. He’ll be hungry when he wakes, but I have no idea what he’ll eat, so in a rare moment of indulgence I order a selection from the breakfast menu. I’m informed it will take half an hour.

Time to wake up the delectable Mr Tomlinson; he’s slept enough.

Grabbing my workout towel and the shopping bag, I knock on the door and enter. To my delight, he’s sitting up in the bed. The tablets are gone and so is the juice.

_Good boy._

He pales as I saunter into the room.

_Keep it casual, Styles. You don’t want to be charged with kidnapping._

He closes his eyes, and I assume it’s because he’s embarrassed.

“Good morning, Louis. How are you feeling?”

“Better than I deserve,” he mutters, as I place the bag on the chair. When he turns his gaze to me his eyes are impossibly big and blue, and though his hair is a tangled mess…he’s stunning.

“How did I get here?” he asks, as though he’s afraid of the answer.

_Reassure him, Styles._

I sit down on the edge of the bed and stick to the facts. “After you passed out, I didn’t want to risk the leather upholstery in my car, taking you all the way to your apartment. So, I brought you here.”

“Did you put me to bed?”

“Yes.”

“Did I throw up again?”

“No.” Thank God.

“Did you undress me?”

“Yes.” _Who else would have undressed you?_

He blushes, and at last he has some colour in his cheeks. Perfect teeth bite down on his lip. I suppress a groan.

“We didn’t –?” he whispers, staring at his hands.

_Christ, what kind of animal does he think I am?_

“Louis, you were comatose. Necrophilia is not my thing.” My tone is dry. “I like my men sentient and receptive.” He sags with relief, which makes me wonder if this has happened to him before, that he’s passed out and woken up in a stranger’s bed and found out he’s fucked him without his consent. Maybe that’s the photographer’s modus operandi. The thought is disturbing. But I recall his confession last night – that he’s never been drunk before. Thank God he hasn’t made a habit of this.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice full of shame.

_Hell._ Maybe I should go easy on him.

“It was a very diverting evening. Not one that I’ll forget in a while.” I hope that sounds conciliatory, but his brows creases.

“You didn’t have to track me down with whatever James Bond gadgetry you’re developing for the highest bidder.

_Whoa!_ Now he’s pissed. Why?

“First, the technology to track cell phones is available over the internet.”

_Well, the Deep Net…_

“Second, my company does not invest or manufacture any kind of surveillance devices.”

My temper is fraying, but I’m on a roll.

“And third, if I hadn’t come to get you, you’d probably be waking up in the photographer’s bed, and from what I can remember, you weren’t overly enthused about him pressing his suit.”

He blinks a couple of times, then starts giggling.

_He’s laughing at me again._

“Which medieval chronicle did you escape from? You sound like a courtly knight.”

He’s beguiling. He’s calling me out…again, and his irreverence is refreshing, really refreshing. However, I’m under no illusion that I’m a knight in shining armour. Boy, has he got the wrong idea. And though it may not be to my advantage, I’m compelled to warn him that there’s nothing chivalrous or courtly about me. “Louis, I don’t think so. Dark knight, maybe.” If only he knew – and why are we discussing me? I change the subject. “Did you eat last night?”

He shakes his head.

_I knew it!_

“You need to eat. That’s why you were so ill. Honestly, it’s drinking rule number one.”

“Are you going to continue to scold me?”

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“I think so.”

“You’re lucky I’m just scolding you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if you were mine, you wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week after the stunt you pulled yesterday. You didn’t eat, you got drunk, you put yourself at risk.” The dear in my gut surprises me; such irresponsible, risk-taking behaviour. “I hate to think what could have happened to you.”

He scowls. “I would have been fine. I was with Zayn.”

Some help he was!

“And the photographer?” I retort.

“Niall was just out of line,” he says, dismissing concern and pushing his hair harshly back from his face.

“Well, the next time he gets out of line, maybe someone should teach him some manners.”

“You’re quite the disciplinarian,” he snaps.

“Oh, Louis, you have no idea.”

An image of him shackled to my bench, peeled gingerroot inserted in his ass so he can’t clench his buttocks, comes to mind, followed by judicious use of a belt or strap.

_Yeah_ …That would teach him not to be so irresponsible. The thought is hugely appealing.

He’s staring at me wide-eyed and dazed, and it makes me uncomfortable. _Can he read my mind? Or is he just looking at a pretty face?_

“I’m going to have a shower, unless you’d like to shower first?” I tell him, but he continues to gape. When with his mouth open, he’s quite lovely. He’s hard to resist, and I grant myself permission to touch him, tracing the line of his cheek with my thumb. His breath catches in his throat as I stroke his soft bottom lip.

“Breathe, Louis,” I murmur, before I stand and inform him that breakfast will be here in fifteen minutes. He says nothing, his smart mouth silent for once.

In the bathroom I take a deep breath, strip, and climb into the shower. I’m half tempted to jerk off, but the familiar fear of discovery and disclosure, from an earlier time in my life, stops me.

Nick would not be pleased.

_Old habits._

As the water cascades over my head I reflect on my latest interaction with the challenging Mr Tomlinson. He’s still here, in my bed, so he cannot find me completely repulsive. I noticed the way his breath caught in his throat, and how his gaze followed me around the room.

_Yeah._ There’s hope.

But would he make a good submissive?

It’s obvious he knows nothing of the lifestyle. He couldn’t even say “fuck” or “sex” or whatever bookish college students use as a euphemism for fucking these days. He’s quite the innocent. He’s probably been subjected to a few fumbling encounters with boys like the photographer.

The thought of him fumbling with anyone irks me.

I could just ask him if he’s interested.

No. I’d have to show him what he’s be taking on if he agreed to a relationship with me.

Let’s see how we both fare over breakfast.

Rinsing off the soap, I stand beneath the hot stream and gather my wits for round two with Louis Tomlinson. I switch off the water and, stepping out of the shower, grab a towel. A quick check in the steamed-up mirror and I decide to skip shaving today. Breakfast will be here shortly, and I’m hungry. Quickly I brush my teeth.

When I open the bathroom door he’s out of bed and searching for his jeans. He looks up like the archetypal startled fawn, all bare legs and big eyes.

“If you’re looking for your jeans, I’ve sent them to the laundry.” He really has great legs. He shouldn’t hide them in pants. His eyes narrow, and I think he’s going to argue with me, so I tell him why. “They were spattered with your vomit.”

“Oh,” he says.

_Yes. “Oh.” Now, what do you have to say to that Mr Tomlinson?_

“I sent Taylor out for another pair and some shoes. They’re in the bag on the chair.” I nod at the shopping bag.

He raises his eyebrows – in surprise, I think. “Um. I’ll have a shower,” he mutters, and then as an afterthought he adds, “Thanks.”

Grabbing the bag, he dodges around me, darts into the bathroom, and locks the door.

_Hmm…_ he couldn’t get into the bathroom quick enough.

_Away from me._

Perhaps I’m being too optimistic.

Disheartened, I briskly dry off and get dressed. In the living room I check my e-mail, but there’s nothing urgent. I’m interrupted by a knock on the door. Two young women have arrived with room service.

“Where would you like breakfast, sir?”

“Set it up on the dining table.”

Walking back into the bedroom, I catch their furtive looks, but I ignore them and suppress the guilt I feel over how much food I’ve ordered. We’ll never eat it all.

“Breakfast is here,” I call, and rap on the bathroom door.

“O-okay.” Louis voice sounds a little muttered.

Back in the living room, our breakfast is on the table. One of the women, who has dark, dark eyes, hands me the check to sign, and from my wallet I pull a couple of twenties for them.

“Thank you, ladies.”

“Just call room service when you want the table cleared, sir,” Miss Dark Eyes says with a coquettish look, as if she’s offering more.

My chilly smile warns her off.

Sitting down at the table with the newspaper, I pour myself and make a start on my omelette. My phone buzzes – a text from Liam.

Zayn wants to known if Louis is still alive.

I chuckle, somewhat mollified that Louis’ so-called friend is thinking about him. It’s obvious that Liam hasn’t given his dick a rest after all his protestations yesterday. I text back.

Alive and kicking 😉

Louis appears a few moments later: hair wet, in the pretty blue blouse that matches his eyes. Taylor has done well; he looks lovely. Scanning the room, he spots his bag.

“Crap, Zayn!” he blurts.

“He knows you’re here and still alive. I texted Liam.”

He gives me an uncertain smile as he walks toward the table.

“Sit,” I say, pointing to the place that’s been set for him. He frowns at the amount of food on the table, which only accentuates my guilt.

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I ordered a selection from the breakfast menu,” I mutter by way of an apology.

“That’s very profligate of you,” he says.

“Yes, it is.” My guilt blooms. But as he opts for pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon with maple syrup, and tucks in, I forgive myself. It’s good to see him eat.

“Tea?” I ask.

“Yes, please,” he says between mouthfuls. He’s obviously famished. I pass him the small teapot of water. He gives me a sweet smile when he notices the Twining English Breakfast tea.

I have to catch my breath at his expression. And it makes me uneasy.

It gives me hope. “Your hair’s very damp,” I observe.

“I couldn’t find the hair dryer,” he says embarrassed.

_He’ll get sick._

“Thank you for the clothes,” he adds.

“It’s a pleasure, Louis. That colour suits you.”

He stares down at his fingers.

“You know, you really should learn how to take a compliment.”

Perhaps he doesn’t get many…but why?

He’s gorgeous in an understated way.

“I should give you some money for these clothes.”

_What?_

I glare at him, and he continues quickly, “You’ve already given me the books, which, of course, I can’t accept. But these, please let me pay you back.”

_Sweetheart._

“Louis, trust me, I can afford it.”

“That’s not the point. Why should you buy these for me?”

“Because I can.” _I’m a very rich man, Lou._

“Just because you can doesn’t mean that you should.” His voice is soft, but suddenly I’m wondering if he’s looked through me and seen my darkest desires. “Why did you send me the books, Harry?”

_Because I wanted to see you again, and here you are…_

“Well, when you were nearly run over by the cyclist – and I was holding you and you were looking up at me – all ‘kiss me, kiss me, Harry’ – “I stop, recalling that moment, his body pressed against mine. Shit. Quickly I shrug off the memory. “I felt like I owed you an apology and a warning. Louis, I’m not a hearts-and-flowers kind of man. I don’t do romance. My tastes are very singular. You should steer clear of me. There’s something about you, though, and I’m finding m=it impossible to stay away. But I think you’ve figured that out already.”

“Then don’t,” he whispers.

_What?_

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

His words travel straight to my cock.

_Fuck._

“You’re not celibate?” he asks.

“No, Louis, I’m not celibate.” And if you’d let me tie you up, I’d prove it to you right now.

His eyes widen and his cheeks pink.

_Oh, Lou._

I have to show him. It’s the only way I’ll know. “What are your plans for the next few days?” I ask.

“I’m working today, from midday. What time is it?” he exclaims in panic.

“It’s just after ten: you’ve plenty of time. What about tomorrow?”

“Zayn and I are going to start packing. We’re moving to Seattle next weekend, and I’m working at Clayton’s all this week.”

“You have a place in Seattle already?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“I can’t remember the address. It’s in the Pike Market District.”

“Not far from me.” _Good!_ “So, what are you going to do for work in Seattle?”

“I’ve applied for some internships. I’m waiting to hear.”

“Have you applied to my company, as I suggested?”

“Um…no.”

“And what’s wrong with my company?”

“Your company or your _company_?” He arches an eyebrow.

“Are you smirking at me, Mr Tomlinson?” I can’t hide my amusement.

_Oh, he’d be a joy to train…challenging, maddening man._

He examines his plate, chewing at his lip.

“I’d like to bite that lip,” I whisper, because it’s true.

His face flies to mine and he shuffles in his seat. He tilts his chin toward me, his eyes full of confidence. “Why don’t you?” he says quietly.

_Oh. Don’t tempt me, baby. I can’t. Not yet._

“Because I’m not going to touch you, Louis – not until I have your written consent to do so.”

“What does that mean?” he asks.

“Exactly what I say. I need to show you, Louis.” So you know what you’re getting yourself into.

“What time do you finish work this evening?”

“About eight.”

“Well, we could go to Seattle this evening or next Saturday for dinner at my place, and I’ll acquaint you with the facts then. The choice is yours.”

“Why can’t you tell me now?”

“Because I’m enjoying my breakfast and your company. Once you’re enlightened, you probably won’t want to see me again.”

He frowns as he processes what I’ve said. “Tonight,” he says.

_Whoa. That didn’t take long._

“Like Eve, you’re quick to eat from the tree of knowledge,” I taunt him.

“Are you smirking at me Mr. Styles?” he asks.

I look at him through narrowed eyes.

_Okay, baby, you asked for this._

I pick up my phone and press Taylor on speed dial. He answers almost immediately.

“Mr. Styles.”

“Taylor. I’m going to need _Charlie Tango_.”

He watches me closely as I make arrangements to bring my EC135 to Portland.

I’ll show him what I have in mind…and the rest will be up to him. He may want to come home once he knows. I’ll need Stephan, my pilot, to be on standby so he can bring him back to Portland if he decides to have nothing more to do with me. I hope that’s not the case.

And it dawns on me that I’m thrilled that I can take him to Seattle in _Charlie Tango_.

_It’ll be a first._

“Standby pilot from 22:30,” I confirm with Taylor and hang up.

“Do people always do what you tell them?” he asks, and the disapproval in his voice is obvious. Is he scolding me now?

His challenge is annoying.

“Usually, if they want to keep their jobs.”

_Don’t question how I treat my staff._

“And if they don’t work for you?” he adds.

“Oh, I can be very persuasive, Louis. You should finish your breakfast. And then I’ll drop you off at home. I’ll pick you up at Clayton’s at eight when you finish. We’ll fly up to Seattle.”

“Fly.”

“Yes. I have a helicopter.”

His mouth drops open, forming a small _o_. It’s a pleasing moment.

“We’ll go by helicopter to Seattle?” he whispers.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I can.” I grin. Sometimes it’s just fucking great to be me. “Finish your breakfast.”

He seems stunned.

“Eat!” My voice more forceful. “Louis, I have an issue with wasted food. Eat.”

“I can’t eat all this.” He studies all the food on the table and I feel guilty once more. Yes, there is too much food here.

“Eat what’s on your plate. If you’d eaten properly yesterday, you wouldn’t be here, and I wouldn’t be declaring my hand so soon.”

_Hell. This could be a huge mistake._

He gives me a sideways look as he chases his food around on the plate with a fork, and his mouth twitches.

“What’s so funny?”

He shakes his head and pops the last piece of pancake into his mouth, and I try not to laugh. As ever, he surprises me. He’s awkward, unexpected, and disarming. He really makes me want to laugh, and what’s more, it’s at myself.

“Good boy,” I mutter. “I’ll take you home when you’ve dried your hair. I don’t want you getting ill.”

_You’ll need all your strength for tonight, for what I have to show you._

Suddenly, he gets up from the table and I have to stop myself from telling him that he doesn’t have permission.

He’s not your submissive…yet, Styles.

_On the way back to the bedroom, he pauses by the sofa._

“Where did you sleep last night?” he asks.

“In my bed.” With you.

“Oh.”

“yes, it was quite the novelty for me, too.”

“Not having…sex.”

He said the _s_ -word…and the tell-tale pink cheeks appear.

“No.”

How can I tell him this, without it sounding weird?

_Just tell him, Styles._

“Sleeping with someone.” Nonchalantly, I turn my attention back to the sports section and the write-up on last night’s game, then watch as he disappears into the bedroom.

_No, that didn’t sound weird at all._

Well, I have another date with Mr Tomlinson. No, not a ate. He needs to know about me. I let out a long breath and drink what’s left of my orange juice. This is shaping up to be a very interesting day. I’m pleased when I hear the buzz of the hair dryer and surprised that he’s doing what he’s been told.

While I’m waiting for him, I phone the valet to bring my car up from the garage and check his address once more on Google Maps. Next, I text Andrea to send me an NDA via e-mail; if Louis wants enlightenment, he’ll need to keep his mouth shut. My phone buzzes. It’s Ros.

As I’m on the phone, Louis emerges from the bedroom and picks up his bag. Ros is talking about Darfur, but my attention is on Mr Tomlinson. He rummages around in his bag and he’s pleased when he finds a small pot of hair gel.

His hair is beautiful. Lush. Long strands. Thick. Idly, I wonder what it would be like to sit and run my fingers through. He styles it back and puts on his jacket, then sits down on the sofa, waiting for me to finish my call.

“Okay, let’s do it. Keep me abreast of progress.” I conclude my conversation with Ros. He’s been working miracles and it looks like our food shipment to Darfur is happening.

“Ready to go?” I ask Louis. He nods. I grab my jacket and car keys and follow him out the door. He peeks at me through long lashes as we walk toward the elevator, and his lips curl into a shy smile. My lips twitch in response.

_What the hell is he doing to me?_

The elevator arrives, and I allow him to step in first. I press the first-floor button and the doors close. In the confines of the elevator, I’m completely aware of him. A trace of his sweet fragrance invades my senses…His breathing alters, hitching a little, and he peeks up at me with a bright come-hither look.

_Shit._

He bites his lip.

He’s doing this on purpose. And for a split second I’m lost in his sensual, mesmerising stare. He doesn’t back down.

I’m hard.

Instantly.

_I want him._

Here.

Now.

In the elevator.

“Oh, fuck the paperwork.” The words come from nowhere and on instinct I grab him and push him against the wall. Clasping both his hands, I pin them above his head so he can’t touch me, and once he’s secure, I twist my other hand in his hair while my lips seeks and finds his.

He moans into my mouth, the call of a siren, and finally I can sample him: mint and tea and an orchard of mellow fruitfulness. He tastes every bit as good as he looks. Reminding me of a time of plenty. _Good Lord._ I’m yearning for him. I grasp his chin, deepening the kiss, and his tongue tentatively touches mine…exploring. Considering. Feeling. Kissing me back.

_Oh, God in heaven._

“You. Are. So. Sweet,” I murmur against his lips, completely intoxicated, punch-drunk with his scent and taste.

The elevator stops and the doors begin to open.

_Get a fucking grip, Styles._

I push myself off him and stand beyond his reach.

He’s breathing hard.

As am I.

_When was the last time I lost control?_

Three men in business suits give us knowing looks as they join us.

And I stare at the poster that’s above the buttons in the elevator advertising a sensual weekend at The Heathman. I glance at Louis and exhale.

He grins.

And my lips twitch once more.

_What the fuck has he done to me?_

The elevator stops at the second floor and the guys get out, leaving me alone with Mr Tomlinson.

“You’ve brushed your teeth,” I observe with wry amusement.

“I used your toothbrush,” he says, eyes shining.

Of course he has…and for some reason, I find this pleasing, too pleasing. I stifle my smile. “Oh, Louis Tomlinson, what am I going to do with you?” I take his hand as the elevator doors open on the ground floor, and I mutter under my breath, “What is it about elevators?” He gives me a knowing look as we stroll across the polished marble of the lobby.

The car is waiting in one of the bays in front of the hotel; the valet is pacing impatiently. I give him an obscene tip and open the passenger door for Louis, who is quiet and introspective.

But he hasn’t run.

Even though I jumped him in the elevator.

I should say something about what happened in there – but what?

_Sorry?_

_How was that for you?_

_What the hell are you doing to me?_

I start the car and decide that the less said, the better. The soothing sound of Delibes’s “Flower Duet” fills the car and I begin to relax.

“What are we listening to?” Louis inquires, as I turn onto Southwest Jefferson Street. I tell him and ask him if he likes it.

“Harry, it’s wonderful.”

To hear my name on his lips is a strange delight. He’s said it about half a dozen times now, and each time it’s different. Today, it’s with wonder – at the music. It’s great that he likes this piece: it’s one of my favourites. I find myself beaming; he’s obviously excused me for the elevator outburst.

“Can I hear that again?”

“Of course.” I tap the touch screen to replay the music.

“You like classical music?” he asks, as we cross the Fremont Bridge, and we fall into an easy conversation about my taste in music. While we’re talking, I get a call on the hands-free.

“Styles,” I answer.

“Mr. Styles, it’s Welch here. I have the information you require.” Oh yea, the details about the photographer.

“Good. E-mail it to me. Anything to add?”

“No, sir.”

I press the button and the music is back. We both listen, now lost in the raw sound of the Kings of Leon. But it doesn’t last long – our listening pleasure is disturbed once more by the hands-free.

_What the hell?_

“Styles,” I snap.

“The NDA has been e-mailed to your, Mr. Styles.”

“Good. That’s all, Andrea.”

“Good day, sir.”

I sneak a look at Louis, to see if he’s picked up on that conversation, but he’s studying the Portland Scenery. I suspect he’s being polite. It’s difficult to keep my eyes on the road. I want to stare at him. For all his maladroitness, he has a beautiful neckline, one that I’d like to kiss from the bottom of his ear right down to his shoulder.

_Hell._ I shuffle in my seat. I hope he agrees to sign the NDA and to take what I have to offer.

When we join I-5 I get another call.

It’s Liam.

“Hi, Harry, D’you get laid?”

_Oh…smooth, dude, smooth._

“Hello, Liam – I’m on speakerphone, and I’m not alone in the car.”

“Who’s with you?”

“Louis Tomlinson.”

“Hi, Lou!”

“Hello, Liam,” he says, animated.

“Heard a lot about you,” Liam says.

_Shit. What has he heard?_

“Don’t believe a word Zayn says,” he responds good-naturedly.

Liam laughs.

“I’m dropping Louis off now. Shall I pick you up?” I interject.

_There’s not doubt Liam will want to make a quick getaway._

“Sure.”

“See you shortly.” I hang up.

“Why do you insist on calling me Louis?” he asks.

“Because it’s your name.”

“I prefer Lou.”

“Do you, now?”

“Lou” is too everyday and ordinary for him. Lou is too familiar. Those three letters have the power to wound…

And in that moment, I know that his rejection, when it comes, will be hard to take. It’s happened before, but I’ve never felt this…invested. I don’t even know this boy, but I want to know him, all of him. Maybe it’s because I’ve never chased a man.

_Styles, get control of yourself and follow the rules, otherwise this will all go to shit._

“Louis,” I say, ignoring his disapproving look. “What happened in the elevator – it won’t happen again – well, not until it’s premeditated.”

That keeps him quiet as I park the car outside his apartment. Before he can answer me, I climb out of the car, walk around and open his door.

As he steps onto the sidewalk, he gives me a fleeting glance. “I liked what happened in the elevator,” he says.

_You did?_ His confession halts me in my tracks. I’m pleasantly surprised again by little Mr Tomlinson. As he walks up the steps to the front door, I have to scramble to keep up with him.

Liam and Zayn look up when we enter. They’re sitting at a dining table in a sparsely furnished room, befitting a couple of students. There are a few packing boxes beside a bookshelf. Liam looks relaxed and not in a hurry to leave, which surprises me.

Malik jumps up and gives me a critical once-over as he hugs Louis.

What did he think I was going to do to the boy?

_I know what I’d like to do to him…_

As Malik holds him as arm’s length I’m reassured; maybe he does care for Lou, too.

“Good morning, Harry,” he says, his tone cool and condescending.

“Mr Malik.” And what I want to say is something sarcastic about how he’s finally showing some interest in his friend, but I hold my tongue.

“Harry, his name is Zayn,” Liam says mild irritation.

“Zayn,” I mutter, to be polite. Liam hugs Louis, holding him for a moment too long.

“Hi, Lou,” he says, all fucking smiles.

“Hi, Liam,” He beams.

Okay, this is becoming unbearable. “Liam, we’d better go.” _And take your hands off him._

“Sure,” he says, releasing Louis, but grabbing Malik and making an unseemly show of kissing him.

_Oh, for fucks sake._

Louis’ uncomfortable watching them. I don’t blame him. But when he turns toward me it’s with a speculative look through narrowed eyes.

What is he thinking?

“Laters, baby,” Liam mutters, slobbering over Malik.

_Dude, show some dignity, for heaven’s sake._

Louis’ reproachful eyes are on me, and for a moment I don’t know if it’s because of Liam and Zayn lascivious display or –

_Hell!_ This is what he wants. To be courted and wooed.

_I don’t do romance, sweetheart._

A lock of his hair has broken free, and without thinking, I tuck it away out of his eyes. He leans his face into my fingers, the tender gesture surprising me. My thumb strays to his soft bottom lip, which I’d like to kiss again. But I can’t. Not until I have his consent.

“Laters, baby,” I whisper, and his face softens with a smile. “I’ll pick you up at eight.” Reluctantly, I turn away and open the front door, Liam behind me.

“Man, I need some sleep,” Liam says, as soon as we’re in the car. “That man is voracious.”

“Really…” My voice drips with sarcasm. The last thing I want to is a blow-by-blow account of his assignation.

“How about you, hotshot? Did he pop your cherry?”

I give him a sideways “fuck off” glare.

Liam laughs. “Man, you are one uptight son of a bitch.” He pulls his Sounders cap over his face and nestles down in his seat for a nap.

I turn up the volume of the music.

_Sleep through that, Lee!_

Yeah. I envy my brother: his ease with men and women, his ability to sleep…and the fact that he’s not the son of a bitch.

NIALL James Horan’s background check reveals a ticket for possession of marijuana. There is nothing in his police records for sexual harassment. Maybe last night would have been a first if I hadn’t intervened. And the little prick smokes weed? I hope he doesn’t smoke it around Louis – and I hope he doesn’t smoke it, period.

Opening Andrea’s e-mail, I send the NDA to the printer in my study at home in Escala. Louis will need to sign it before I show him my playroom. And in a moment of weakness, or hubris, or perhaps unprecedented optimism – I don’t know which – I fill in his name and address on my standard Dom/Sub contract and send that to print, too.

There’s a knock at the door.

“Hey, hotshot. Let’s go hiking.” Liam says through the door.

_Ah…_ the child has woken from his nap.

THE scent of pine, fresh damp earth, and late spring is a balm to my senses. The smell reminds me of those heady days of my childhood, running through a forest with Liam and my sister Gemma under the watchful eyes of our adoptive parents. The quiet, the space, the freedom…the crunch of dry pink needles underfoot.

Here in the great outdoors I could forget.

Here was a refuge from my nightmares.

Liam chatters away, needing only the occasional grunt from me to keep talking. As we make our way along the pebbled shore of Willamette my mind strays to Louis. For the first time in a long time, I have the sweet sense of anticipation. I’m excited.

_Will he say yes to my proposal?_

I picture him sleeping beside me, soft and small…and my cock twitches with expectation. I could have woken him and fucked him then – what a novelty that would have been.

I’ll fuck him in time.

I’ll fuck him bound and with his smart mouth gagged.

CLAYTON’S is quiet. The last customer left five minutes ago. And I’m waiting – again – drumming my fingers on my thighs. Patience is not my forte. Even the long hike with Liam today has not dampened my restlessness. He’s having dinner with Zayn this evening at The Heathman. Two dates on consecutive nights is not his usual style.

Suddenly the fluorescent lights inside the door flicker off, the front door opens, and Louis steps out into a mild Portland evening. My heart begins to hammer. This is it: either the beginning of a new relationship or the beginning of the end. He waves goodbye to a young man who’s followed him out. It’s not the same man I met the last time I was here – it’s someone new. He watches Louis walk toward the car, his eyes on his ass. Taylor distracts me by making a move to climb out of the car, but I stop him. This is my call. When I’m out of the car holding the door open for him, the new guy is locking up the store and no longer ogling Mr Tomlinson.

His lips curve into a shy smile as he approaches, his hair soft and un-styled, moving with the soft evening breeze.

“Good evening, Mr Tomlinson.”

“Mr. Styles,” he says. He’s dressed in black jeans… _Jeans again_. He greets Taylor as he climbs into the backseat of the car.

Once I’m beside him I clasp his hand, while Taylor pulls out onto the empty road and heads to the Portland helipad. “How was work?” I ask, enjoying rh feel of his hand in mine.

“Very good,” he says, his voice is husky.

“Yes, it’s been a long day for me, too.”

It’s been hell waiting the last couple of hours!

“What did you do?” he asks.

“I went hiking with Liam.” His had is warm and soft. He glances down at our joined fingers and I brush his knuckles with my thumb over and over. His breath catches and his eyes meet mine. In them I see his longing and desire…and his sense of anticipation. I just hope he accepts my proposition.

Mercifully, the drive to the helipad is short. When we’re out of the car I take his hand again. He looks a little perplexed.

_Ah._ He’s wondering where the helicopter might be.

“Ready?” I ask. He nods, and I lead him into the building toward the elevator. He gives me a quick knowing look.

_He’s remembering the kiss from this morning, but then…so am I._

“It’s only three floors,” I mutter.

As we stand inside, I make a mental note to fuck him in an elevator one day. That’s if he agrees to my deal.

On the roof _Charlie Tango_ , newly arrived from Boeing Field, is prepped and ready to fly, though there’s no sign of Stephan, who’s brought her down here. But Joe, who runs the helipad in Portland, is in a small office. He salutes when I see him. He’s older than my grandpa, and what he doesn’t know about flying is not worth knowing; he flew Sikorskys in Korea for casualty evacuation, and boy, does he have some hair-raising stories.

“Here’s your flight plan, Mr. Styles,” Joe says, his gravelly voice betraying his age. “All external checks are done. He’s ready and waiting sir. You’re good to go.”

“thank you, Joe.”

A quick glance at Lou tells me he’s excited…and so am I. This is a first.

“Let’s go.” With his hand in mine once more, I lead Louis over the helipad to _Charlie Tango_. The safest Euro copter in her class and a delight to fly. She’s my pride and joy. I hold the door open for Louis; he scrambles inside and I climb in behind him.

“Over there,” I order, pointing to the front passenger seat. “Sit. Don’t touch anything.” I’m amazed he does as he’s told.

Once in his seat, he examines the array of instruments with a mixture of awe and enthusiasm. Crouching down beside him, I strap him into the seat harness, trying not to imagine him naked as I do it. I take a little longer than is necessary because this might be my last chance to be this close to him, my last chance to inhale his sweet, evocative scent.  Once he knows about my predilections, he may flee…on the other hand, he may embrace the lifestyle. The possibilities this conjures in my mind are almost over whelming. He’s watching me intently, he’s so close…so lovely. I tighten the last strap. He’s not going anywhere. Not for an hour at least.

Suppressing my excitement, I whisper, “You’re secure. No escaping.” He inhales sharply. “Breathe, Louis,” I add, and caress his cheek. Holding his chin, I lean down ad kiss him quickly. “I like this harness,” I mutter. I want to tell him I have others, in leather, in which I’d like to see him trussed and suspended from the ceiling. But I behave, sit down, and buckle up.

“Put your cans on.” I point to the headset in front of Lou. “I’m just going through all the pre-flight checks.” All instruments look good. I press the throttle to 1500 rpm, transponder to stand-by, and position beacon on. Everything is set and ready to go.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” he asks with wonder. I inform him that I’ve been a fully qualified pilot for four years. His smile is infectious.

“You’re safe with me,” I reassure him, and add, “Well, while we’re flying.” I give him a wink. He beams, and I’m dazzled.

“Are you ready?” I ask – and I can’t quite believe how I excited I am to have him here beside me.

He nods.

I talk to the tower – they’re awake – and increase the throttle to 200 rpm. Once they’ve given us clearance, I do my final checks. Oil temperature is 104. Good. I increase the manifold pressure to 14, the engine to 2500 rpm, and pull back on the throttle. And like the elegant bird she is… _Charlie Tango_ rises into the air.

Louis gasps as the ground disappears below us, but he holds his tongue, entranced by the waning lights of Portland. Soon we are shrouded in darkness; the only light emanates from the instruments before us. Lou’s face is illuminated by the red and green glow as he stares into the night.

“Eerie, isn’t it?”

Though I don’t find it so. To me this is a comfort. Nothing can harm me here.

_I’m safe and hidden in the dark._

“How do you know you’re going the right way?” Louis asks.

“Here.” I point to the panel. I don’t want to bore him talking about instrument flight rules, but the fact is it’s _all_ the equipment in front of me that guides us to our destination: the altitude indicator, the altimeter, the VSI, and of course the GPS. I tell him about _Charlie Tango_ , and how he’s equipped for night flight.

Louis looks at me, amazed.

“There’s a helipad on top of the building I live in. That’s where we’re heading.”

I look back at the panel, checking all the data. This is what I love: the control, my safety and well-being reliant on my mastery of the technology in front of me. “When you fly at night, you fly blind. You have to trust the instrumentation,” I tell him.

“How long will the flight be?” he asks, a little breathless.

“Less than an hour – the wind is in our favour.” I glance at him again. “You okay, Louis?”

“Yes,” he says, his voice oddly abrupt.

Is he nervous? Or maybe he’s regretting his decision to be here with me. The though is unsettling. He hasn’t given me a chance. I’m distracted by air-traffic control for a moment. Then, as we clear cloud cover, I see Seattle in the distance, a beacon blazing in the dark.

“Look, over there.” I direct Louis attention to the bright lights.

“Do you always impress men this way? ‘Come and fly in my helicopter’?”

“I’ve never brought a boy up here, Louis. It’s another first for me. Are you impressed?”

“I’m awed, Harry,” he whispers.

“Awed?” My smile is spontaneous. And I remember Anne, my mother, stroking my hair as I read out loud from _The Once and Future King._

_“Harry, that was wonderful. I’m awed, darling boy.”_

_I was seven and had only recently started speaking._

“You’re just so…competent,” Louis continues.

“Why, thank you, Mr Tomlinson.” My face warms with pleasure at his unexpected praise.

I hope he doesn’t notice.

“You obviously enjoy this,” he says a little later.

“What?”

“Flying.”

“It requires control and concentration.” Two qualities I most enjoy. “How could I not love it? Though my favourite is soaring.”

“Soaring?”

“Yes. Gliding, to the layperson. Gliders and helicopters – I fly them both.”

Perhaps I should take him soaring?

_Getting ahead of yourself, Styles._

_And since when do you take anyone soaring?_

Since when do I bring anyone in _Charlie Tango_?

ATC refocuses on me on the flight path, halting my rogue thoughts as we approach the outskirts of Seattle. We’re close. An I’m closer to knowing whether this is a pipe dream or not. Lou is staring out the window, entranced.

I can’t keep my eyes off him.

_Please say yes._

“Looks good, doesn’t it?” I ask, so that he’ll turn and I can see his face. He does, with a huge cock-tightening grin. “We’ll be there in a few minutes,” I add.

 Suddenly the atmosphere in the cabin shifts and I have more heightened awareness of him. Breathing deeply, I inhale his scent and sense the anticipation. Louis’. Mine.

As we descend, I take _Charlie Tango_ through the downtown area toward Escala, my home, and my heart rate increases. Louis starts fidgeting. He’s nervous, too. I hope he doesn’t flee.

As the helipad comes into view, I take another deep breath.

_This is it._

We land smoothly and I power down, watching the rotor blades slow and come to a stop. All I can hear is the hiss of white noise over our headphones as we sit in silence. I remove my cans, then remove Louis’, too. “We’re here,” I say quietly. His face is pale in the glow of the landing lights, his eyes luminous.

_Sweet Lord, he’s beautiful._

I unbuckle my harness and reach over to undo his.

He peers up at me. Trusting. Young. Sweet. His delicious scent is almost my undoing.

Can I do this with him?

He’s an adult.

He can make his own decisions.

And I want him to look at me this way once he knows me…knows what I’m capable of. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You know that, don’t you?” He needs to understand this. I want his submission, but more than that I want his consent.

“I’d never do anything I didn’t want to do, Harry.” He sounds sincere and I want to believe him. With those pacifying words ringing in my head, I climb out of my seat and open the door, then jump down onto the helipad. I take his hand as he exits the aircraft. The wind whips his hair around his face, and he looks anxious. I don’t know if it’s because he’s here with me, alone, or if its because we’re thirty stories high. I know it’s a giddy feeling being up here.

“Come.” Wrapping my arm around him to shield him from the wind, I guide him to the elevator.

We are both quiet as we make the short journey to the penthouse. He’s wearing a pale green shirt beneath his black jacket. It suits him. I make a mental note to include blues and greens in the clothes I’ll provide if he agrees to my terms. His eyes meet mine in the elevators mirrors as the doors open to my apartment.

He follows me through the foyer, across the corridor, and into the living room. “Can I take your jacket?” I ask. Louis shakes his head and clutches the lapels to emphasise that he wants to keep his jacket on.

_Okay._

“Would you like a drink?” I try a different approach and decide that I need a drink to steady my nerves.

_Why am I so nervous?_

Because I want him…

“I’m going to have a glass of white wine. Would you like to join me?”

“Yes, please,” he says.

In the kitchen I slip off my jacket and open the wine fridge. A sauvignon blanc would be a good icebreaker. Pulling out a serviceable Pouilly-Fume, I want Louis peer through the balcony doors at the view. When he turns and walks back toward the kitchen I ask if he’d be happy with the wine I’ve selected.

“I know nothing about wine, Harry. I’m sure it will be fine.” He sounds subdued.

_Shit._ This isn’t going well. Is he overwhelmed? Is that it?

I pour two glasses and walk to where he stands in the middle of my living room, looking every bit the sacrificial lamb. Gone is the disarming man. He looks lost.

Like me…

“Here.” I hand him the glass, and he immediately takes a sip, closing his eyes in obvious appreciation of the wine. When he lowers the glass, his lips are moist.

_Good choice, Styles._

“You’re very quiet, and you’re not even blushing. In fact, I think this is the palest I’ve ever seen you, Louis. Are you hungry?”

He shakes his head and takes another sip. Maybe he’s in need of some liquid courage, too. “It’s a very big place you have here,” he says, his voice timid.

“Big?”

“Big.”

“It’s big.” There’s no arguing with that; it is more than then thousand square feet.

“Do you play?” He looks at the piano.

“Yes.”

“Well?”

“Yes.”

“Of course you do. Is there anything you can’t do well?”

“Yes…a few things.”

Cook.

Tell jokes.

Make free and easy conversation with a man I’m attracted to.

_Be touched…_

“Do you want to sit?” I gesture toward the sofa. A brisk nod tells me that he does. Taking his hand, I lead him there, and he sits down, giving me an impish look.

“What’s so amusing?” I ask, as I take a seat beside him.

“Why did you give me _Tess of the d’Urbervilles_ , specifically?”

_Oh. Where is this going?_ “Well, you said you liked Thomas Hardy.”

“Is that the only reason?”

I don’t want to tell him that he has _my_ first edition, and that it was a better choice than _Jude the Obscure._ “It seemed appropriate. I could hold you to some impossibly high ideal like Angel Clare or debase you completely like Alec d’Urberville.” My answer is truthful enough and has certain irony to it. What I’m about to propose I suspect will be very far from his expectations.

“If there are only two choices, I’ll take the debasement,” he whispers.

_Damn. Isn’t that what you want, Styles?_

“Louis, stop biting your lip, please. It’s very distracting. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“That’s why I’m here,” he says, his teeth leaving little indentations on a bottom lip moist with wine.

And there he is: disarming once more, surprising me at every turn. My cock concurs.

We are cutting to the chase on this deal, but before we explore the details, I need him to sign the NDA. I excuse myself and head into my study. The contract and NDA are ready on the printer. Leaving the contract on my desk – I don’t know if we’ll ever get to it – I staple the NDA together and take it back to Louis.

“This is a nondisclosure agreement.” I place it on the coffee table in front of him. He looks confused and surprised. “My lawyer insists on it,” I add. “If you’re going for option two, debasement, you’ll need to sign this.”

“And if I don’t want to sign anything?”

“Then it’s Angel Clare high ideals, well, for most of the book anyway.” And I won’t be able to touch you. I’ll send you home with Stephan, and I will try my very best to forget you. My anxiety mushrooms; this deal could all go to shit.

“What does this agreement mean?”

“It means you cannot disclose anything about us. Anything, to anyone.”

He searches my face and I don’t know if he’s confused or displeased.

This could go either way.

“Okay. I’ll sign,” He says.

_Well, that was easy._ I hand him my Mont Blanc and he places the pen at the signature line.

“Aren’t you even going to read it?” I ask, suddenly annoyed.

“No.”

“Louis, you should always read anything you sign.” _How could he be so foolish?_

Have his parents taught him nothing?

“Harry, what you fail to understand is that I wouldn’t talk about us to anyone anyway. Even Zayn. So it’s immaterial whether I sign an agreement or not. If it means so much to you, or your lawyer, whom _you_ obviously talk to, then fine. I’ll sign.

He has an answer for everything. It’s refreshing. “Fair point well made, Mr Tomlinson,” I note dryly.

With a quick, disapproving glance, he signs.

And before I can begin my pitch, he asks, “Does this mean you’re going to make love to me tonight, Harry?”

_What?_

_Me?_

_Make love?_

_Oh, Styles, let’s disabuse him of this straightaway_. “No, Louis, it doesn’t. First, Id don’t make love. I fuck, hard.”

He gasps. That’s made him think.

“Second, there’s a lot more paperwork to do. And third, you don’t yet know what you’re in for. You could still run from here screaming! Come, I want to show you my playroom.”

He’s nonplussed, the little _v_ forming between his brows. “You want to show me your Xbox?”

I laugh out loud.

_Oh, baby._

“No. Louis, no Xbox, no PlayStation. Come.” Standing, I offer him my hand, which he takes willingly. I lead him to the hallway and upstairs, where I stop outside the door to my playroom, my heart hammering in my chest.

_This is it. Pay or play. Have I ever been this nervous?_ Realising my desires depend on the turn of this key, I unlock the door, and in that moment, I need to reassure him. “You can leave anytime. The helicopter is on standby to take you whenever you want to go; you can stay the night and go home in the morning. It’s fine, whatever you decide.”

“Just open the damn door, Harry,” he says with a mulish expression and his arms crossed.

This is the crossroads. I don’t want him to run. But I’ve never felt this exposed. Even in Nick’s hands…and I know it’s because he knows nothing about the lifestyle.

I open the door and follow him into my playroom.

My safe place.

The only place where I’m truly myself.

Louis stands in the middle of the room, studying all the paraphernalia that is so much a part of my life: the floggers, the canes, the bed, the bench…He’s silent, drinking it all in, and all I hear is the deafening pounding of my heart as the blood rushes past my eardrums.

Now you know.

_This is me._

He turns and gives me a piercing stare as I wait for him to say something, but he prolongs my agony and walks further into the room, forcing me to follow him.

His fingers trail over a suede flogger, one of my favourites. I tell him what it’s called, but he doesn’t respond. He walks over to the bed, his hands exploring, his fingers running over one of the carved pillars.

“Say something,” I ask. His silence is unbearable. I need to know if he’s going to run.

“Do you do this to people or do they do it you?”

_Finally!_

“People?” I want to snort. “I do this to men who want me to.”

He’s willing to have a dialogue. There’s hope.

He frowns. “If you have willing volunteers, why am I here?”

“Because I want to do this with you, very much.” Visions of him tied up in various positions around the room overwhelm my imagination; on the cross, on the bed, over the bench…

“Oh,” he says, and wanders to the bench. My eyes are drawn to his inquisitive fingers stroking the leather. His touch is curious, slow, and sensual – is he even aware?

“You’re a sadist?” he says, startling me.

_Fuck._ He sees me.

“I’m a Dominant,” I say quickly, hoping to move the conversation on.

“What does that mean?” he inquires, shocked, I think.

“It means I want you to willingly surrender yourself to me, in all things.”

“Why would I do that?”

“To please me,” I whisper. _This is what I need from you._ “In very simple terms, I want you to want to please me.”

“How do I do that?” he breathes.

“I have rules, and I want you to comply with them. They are for your benefit and for my pleasure. If you follow these rules to my satisfaction, I shall reward you. If you don’t, I shall punish you, and you will learn.”

_And I can’t wait to train you. In every way._

He stares at the canes behind the bench. “And where does all this fit in?” He waves at his surroundings.

“It’s all part of the incentive package. Both reward and punishment.”

“So, you’ll get your kicks by exerting your will over me.”

_Spot on, Mr Tomlinson._

“It’s about gaining your trust and your respect, so you’ll let me exert my will over you.” _I need your permission, baby._ “I will gain a great deal of pleasure, joy even, in your submission. The more you submit, the greater my joy – it’s a very simple equation.”

“Okay, and what do I get out of this?”

“Me.” I shrug. _That’s it, baby. Just me. All of me. And you’ll find pleasure too…_

His eyes widen fractionally as he stares at me, saying nothing. It’s exasperating. “You’re not giving anything away, Louis. Let’s go back downstairs where I can concentrate better. It’s very distracting having you in here.”

I hold out my hand to him and for the first time he looks from my hand to my face, undecided.

_Shit._

I’ve frightened him. “I’m not going to hurt you, Louis.”

Tentatively he puts his hand in mine. I’m elated. He hasn’t run.

Relieved, I decide to show him the submissive’s bedroom.

“If you do this, let me show you.” I lead him down the corridor. “This will be your room. You can decorate it how you like, have whatever you like in here.”

“My room? You’re expecting me to move in?” he squeaks in disbelief.

_Okay._ Maybe I should have left this until later.

“Not full-time,” I reassure him. “Just, say, Friday evening through Sunday. We have to talk about all that. Negotiate. If you want to do this.”

“I’ll sleep here?”

“Yes.”

“Not with you?”

“No. I told you, I don’t sleep with anyone, except you when you’re stupefied with drink.”

“Where do you sleep?”

“My room is downstairs. Come, you must be hungry.”

“Weirdly, I seem to have lost my appetite,” he declares, with his familiar stubborn expression.

“You must eat, Louis.”

His eating habits will be one of the first issues I’ll work on if he agrees to be mine…that, and his fidgeting.

_Stop getting ahead of yourself, Styles!_

“I’m fully aware that this is a dark path I’m leading you down, Louis, which is why I really want you to think about this.”

He follows me downstairs into the living room once more. “You must have some questions. You’ve signed your NDA; you can ask me anything you want and I’ll answer.”

If this is going to work, he’s going to have to communicate. In the kitchen I open the fridge and find a large plate of cheese and some grapes. Gail wasn’t expecting me to have company, and this is not enough…I wonder if I should order some takeout. Or perhaps take him out?

Like a date.

_Another date._

I don’t want to raise expectations like that.

I don’t do dates.

_Only with him…_

The thought is irritating. There’s a fresh baguette in the bread basket. Bread and cheese will have to do. Besides, he says he’s not hungry.

“Sit.” I point to one of the barstools and Lou sits down and gives me a level gaze.

“You mentioned paperwork.” He says.

“Yes.”

“What paperwork?”

“Well, apart from the NDA, a contract saying what we will and won’t do. I need to know your limits, and you need to know mine. This is consensual Louis”

“And if I don’t want to do this?” _Shit._

“That’s fine,” I lie.

“But we won’t have any sort of relationship?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“This is the only sort of relationship I’m interested in.”

“Why?”

“It’s the way I am.”

“How did you become this way?”

“Why is anyone the way they are? That’s kind of hard to answer. Why do some people like cheese and other people hate it? Do you like cheese? Mrs. Jones – my housekeeper – has left this for a late supper.” I place the plate in front of him.

“What are your rules that I have to follow?”

“I have them written down. We’ll go through them once we’ve eaten.”

“I’m really not hungry,” he whispers.

“You will eat.”

The look he gives me is defiant.

“Would you like another glass of wine?” I ask, as a peace offering.

“Yes, please.”

I pour the wine into his glass and sit down beside him. “Help yourself to food, Louis.”

He takes a few grapes.

_That’s it? That’s all you’re eating?_

“Have you been like this for a while?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Is it easy to find men who want to do this?”

_Oh, if only you knew._ “You’d be amazed.” My tone is wry.

“Then why me? I really don’t understand.” He’s utterly bemused.

_Baby, you’re beautiful. Why wouldn’t I want to do this with you?_

“Louis, I’ve told you. There’s something about you. I can’t leave you alone. I’m like a moth to a flame. I want you very badly, especially now, when you’re biting your lip again.”

“I think you have that cliché the wrong way around,” he says softly, and it’s a disturbing confession.

“Eat!” I order, to change the subject.

“No. I haven’t signed anything yet, so I think I’ll hang on to my free will for a bit longer, if that’s okay with you.”

_Oh_ …his smart mouth.

“As you wish, Mr Tomlinson.” And I hide my smirk.

“How many men?” he asks, and he pops a grape into that mouth.

“Fifteen.” I have to look away.

“For long periods of time?”

“Some of them, yes.”

“Have you ever hurt anyone?”

“Yes.”

“Badly?”

“No.” Dean was fine, if a little shaken by the experience. And if I’m honest, so was I.

“Will you hurt me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Physically, will you hurt me?”

_Only what you can take._

“I will punish you when you require it, and it will be painful.”

_For example, when you get drunk and put yourself at risk._

“Have you ever been beaten?” he asks.

“Yes.”

Many, many times. Nick was devilishly handy with a cane. It’s the only touch I could tolerate.

His eyes widen and he puts the uneaten grapes on his plate and takes another sip of wine. His lack of appetite is irritating and is affecting mine. Perhaps I should just bite the bullet and show him the rules.

“Let’s discuss this in my study. I want to show you something.”

He follows me and sits in the leather chair in front of my desk as I lean against it, arms folded.

This is what he wants to know. It’s a blessing that he’s curious – he hasn’t run yet. From the contract laid out on my desk I take one of the pages and hand it to him. “These are the rules. They may be subject to change. They form part of the contract, which you can also have. Read these rules and let’s discuss.”

His eyes scan the page. “Hard limits?” he asks.

“Yes. What you won’t do, what I won’t do, we need to specify in our agreement.”

“I’m not sure about accepting money for clothes. It feels wrong.”

“I want to lavish money on you. Let me buy you some clothes. I may need you to accompany me to functions.”

_Styles, what are you saying?_ This would be a first. “And I want you dressed well. I’m sure your salary, when you do get a job, won’t cover the kind of clothes I’d like you to wear.”

“I don’t have to wear them when I’m not with you?”

“No.”

“Okay. I don’t want to exercise four times a week.”

“Louis, I need you supple, strong, and with stamina. Trust me, you need to exercise.”

“But surely not four times a week. How about three?”

“I want you to do four.”

“I though this was a negotiation?”

Again, he’s disarming, calling me out on my shit. “Okay, Mr Tomlinson, another point well made. How about an hour on three days and one day half an hour?”

“Three days, three hours. I get the impression you’re going to keep me exercised when I’m here.”

_Oh, I hope so._

“Yes, I am. Okay, agreed. Are you sure you don’t want an intern at my company? You’re a good negotiator.”

“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Of course, he’s right. And it’s my number-one rule: never fuck the staff.

“So, limits. These are mine.” I hand him the list.

This is it, shit-or-bust time. I know my limits by hear, and mentally tick off the list as I watch him read through. His face grows paler as he nears the end.

_Fuck, I hope this isn’t frightening him off._

I want him. I want his submission…badly. He swallows, glancing nervously up at me. How can I persuade him to give this a try? I should reassure him, show him that I’m capable of caring.

“Is there anything you’d like to add?”

Deep down I hope he won’t add anything. I want carte blanche with him. He stares at me, still at a loss for words. It’s irritating. I’m not used to waiting for answers. “Is there anything you don’t want to do? I prompt.

“I don’t know.”

Not the response I was expecting.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

He shifts in his seat, looking uncomfortable, his teeth toying with his bottom lip. _Again._ “I’ve never done anything like this.”

_Hell, of course he hasn’t._

_Patience, Styles. For fuck’s sake. You’ve thrown a great deal of information at him._ I continue my gentle approach. It’s novel.

“Well, when you’ve had sex, was there anything that you didn’t like doing?” And I’m reminded of the photographer fumbling all ove him yesterday.

He flushes and my interest is piqued. What has he done that he didn’t like? Is he adventurous in bed? He seems so – innocent. Normally I don’t find that attractive.

“You can tell me, Louis. We have to be honest with each other or this isn’t going to work.” I really have to encourage him loosen up – he wont even talk about sex. He’s squirming again and staring at his fingers.

_Come on, Lou._

“Tell me,” I order. Sweet Lord, he’s frustrating.

“well, I’ve not had sex before, so I don’t know,” he whispers.

The earth stops spinning.

I don’t fucking believe it.

_How?_

_Why?_

_Fuck!_

“Never?” I’m incredulous.

He shakes his head, eyes wide.

“You’re a virgin?” I don’t believe it.

He nods, embarrassed. I close my eyes. I can’t look at him.

_How the hell did I get this so wrong?_

Anger lances through me. _What can I do with a virgin?_ I glare at him as fury surges through my body.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” I growl, and start pacing my study. _What do I want with a virgin?_ He shrugs apologetically., at a loss for words.

“I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me.” The exasperation is clear in my voice.

“The subject never came up,” he says.

“I’m not in the habit of revealing my sexual status to everyone I meet. I mean, we hardly know each other.”

As ever, it’s a fair point. I can’t believe I’ve given him the tour of my playroom – thank heavens for the NDA.

“Well, you know a lot more about me now,” I snarl. “I knew you were inexperienced, but a _virgin_! Hell, Lou, I just showed you…”

Not only the playroom: my rules, hard limits. He knows nothing. How could I do this? “May God forgive me,” I mutter under my breath. I’m at a loss.

A startling thought occurs to me – our one kiss in the elevator, where I could have fucked him there and then – was that his first kiss?

“Have you ever been kissed, apart from by me?” Please say yes.

“Of course I have.” He looks offended.

Yeah, he’s been kissed, but not often. And for some reason the thought is…pleasing.

“And a nice young man hasn’t swept you off your feet? I just don’t understand. You’re twenty-one, nearly twenty-two. You’re beautiful.” Why hasn’t some guy taken him to bed?

_Shit_ , maybe he’s religious. No, Welch would have uncovered that. He gazes down at his fingers, and I think he’s smiling. He thinks this is funny? I could kick myself. “And you’re seriously discussing what I want to do, when you have no experience.”

Words fail me. How can this be?

“How have you avoided sex? Tell me, please.” Because I don’t get it. He’s in college – and from what I remember of college all the kids were fucking like rabbits.

_All of them. Except me._

The thought is a dark one, but I push it aside for the moment.

Lou shrugs, his small shoulders lifting slightly. “No one’s really, you know…” he trails off.

No one has what? Seen how attractive you are? No one’s lived up to your expectations – and I do?

_Me?_

He really knows nothing. How could he ever be a submissive if he has no idea about sex? This is not going to fly…and all the groundwork I’ve done has been for nothing. I can’t close this deal.

“Why are you so angry with me?” he whispers.

Of course he would think that. _Make this right, Styles._

“I’m not angry with you, I’m angry at myself. I just assumed – “

Why _the hell would I be angry with you?_ What a mess this is. I run my hands through my hair, trying to rein in my temper.

“Do you want to go?” I ask, concerned.

“No, unless you want me to go,” he says softly, his voiced tinged with regret.

“Of course not. I like having you here.”

The statement surprises me as I say it. I _do_ like having him here. Being with him. He’s so…different. And I want to fuck him, and spank him, and watch his olive skin pink beneath my hands. That’s out of the question now – isn’t it? Perhaps not the fucking…perhaps I could. The thought is a revelation. I could take him to bed. Break him in. It would be a novel experience for both of us. Would he want to? He asked me earlier if I was going to make love to him. I could try, without tying him up.

_But he might touch me._

_Fuck._ I glance down at my watch and note the time. It’s late. When I look back at him the sight of him toying with his bottom lip arouses me.

I still want him, in spite of his innocence. Could I take him to bed? Would he want to, knowing what he knows about me now? _Hell_ , I have no idea. Do I just ask him? But he’s turning me on, biting his lip again. I point it out and he apologises.

“Don’t apologise. It’s just that I want to bite it, too, hard.”

His breath hitches.

Oh. Maybe he’s interested. _Yes. Let’s do this._ My decision is made.

“Come,” I offer, holding out my hand.

“What?”

“We’re going to rectify the situation right now.”

“What do you mean? What situation?”

“Your situation. Louis, I’m going to make love to you, now.”

“Oh.”

“That’s if you want to. I mean, I don’t want to push my luck.”

“I thought you didn’t make love. I thought you fucked hard,” he says, his voice husky and so damned seductive, his eyes wide, pupils dilating. He’s flustered with desire – he wants this too.

And a wholly unexpected thrill unfurls inside me. “I can make and exception, or maybe combine the two, we’ll see. I really want to make love to you. Please, come to bed with me. I want our arrangement to work, but you really need to have some idea what you’re getting yourself into. We can start your training tonight – with the basics. This doesn’t mean I’ve come over all hearts and flowers – it’s a means to an end, but one that I want, and hopefully you do, too.” The words rush out in a torrent.

_Styles! Get a hold of yourself._

His cheeks pink.

_Come on, Louis, yes or no. I’m dying here._

“But I haven’t done all the things you require from your list of rules.” His voice is timid. Is he afraid? I hope not. I don’t want him to be afraid.

“Forget about the rules. Forget about all those details for tonight. I want you. I’ve wanted you since you fell in into my office, and I know you want me. You wouldn’t be sitting here calmly discussing punishment and hard limits if you didn’t. Please, Lou, spend the night with me.”

I offer him my hand again, and this time he takes it, and I pull him into my arms, holding him flush against my body. He gasps with surprise and I feel him against me. The darkness is quiet, perhaps subdued by my libido. I want him. He’s so alluring. This boy confounds me, every step of the way. I’ve revealed my dark secret, yet he’s still here; he hasn’t run.

My fingers tug at his hair, pulling his face up to mine, and I gaze into captivating eyes.

“You are one brave young man,” I breathe. “I am in awe of you.” I lean down and gently kiss him, then tease his lower lip with my teeth. “I want to bite this lip.” I tug harder and he whimpers. My cock hardens in response.

“Please, Lou, let me make love to you,” I whisper against his mouth.

“Yes,” he responds – and my body lights up like the Fourth of July.

_Get a grip, Styles._ We have no arrangement in place, no limits set, he’s not mine to do with as I please – and yet I’m excited. Aroused. It’s an unfamiliar but exhilarating feeling, desire for this man coursing through me. I’m at the tipping edge of a giant roller coaster.

_Vanilla sex?_

_Can I do this?_

Without another word I lead him out of my study, through the living room, and down the corridor to my bedroom. He follows, his hand tightly holding mine.

_Shit._ Contraception. I’m sure he’s not on the pill…Fortunately, I have condoms for backup. At least I don’t have to worry about every dick he’s slept with. I release him by the bed, walk over to my chest of drawers, and remove my watch, shoes, and socks.

“I assume you’re not on the pill.”

He shakes his head.

“I didn’t think so.” From the drawer I take out a packet of condoms, letting him know I’m prepared. He studies me, his eyes impossibly large in his beautiful face, and I have a moment’s hesitation. This is supposed to be a big deal for him, isn’t it? I remember my first time with Nick, how embarrassing it was…but what a heaven-sent relief. Deep down I know I should send him home. But the simple truth is, I don’t want him to go, and I want him. What’s more, I can see my desire reflected in his expression, in his darkening eyes.

“Do you want the blinds drawn?” I ask.

“I don’t mind,” he says. “I thought you didn’t let anyone sleep in your bed.”

“Who says we’re going to sleep?”

“Oh.” His lips form a perfect small _o_. My cock hardens further. Yes, I’d like to fuck that mouth, that _o_. I stalk toward him like he’s my prey. _Oh, baby, I want to bury myself in you._ His breathing is shallow and quick. His cheeks are rosy…he’s wary, but excited. He’s at my mercy, and knowing that makes me feel powerful. He has no idea what I’m going to do with him. “Let’s get this jacket off, shall we?” Reaching up, I gently push his jacket off his shoulders, fold it, and place it on my chair.

“Do you have any idea how much I want you, Louis Tomlinson?”

His lips part as he inhales, and I reach up to touch his cheek. His skin is petal-soft beneath my fingers as they glide down to his chin. He’s entranced – lost – under my spell. He’s already mine. It’s intoxicating.

“Do you have any idea what I’m going to do with you?” I murmur, and hold his chin beneath my thumb and forefinger. Leaning down, I kiss him firmly, moulding his lips to mine. Returning my kiss, he’s soft and sweet and willing, and I have an overwhelming need to see him, all of him. I make quick work of his buttons, slowly peeling off his blouse and letting it fall to the floor. I stand back to look at him.

He’s stunning.

“Oh, Lou. You have the most beautiful skin, tan and flawless. I want to kiss every inch of it.” There’s not a mark on him. The thought is unsettling. I want to see him marked…pink…with tiny, thin welts from a crop maybe.

He colours a delicious rose – embarrassed, no doubt. If I do nothing else, I will teach him not to be shy of his body. Reaching up, I run my hands through his hair, letting loose, lush chestnut strands tumble around his eyes and face.

“Mmm, I think I like brunettes.” He’s lovely, exceptional, a jewel.

Holding his head, I brush a piece of hair from his eye, and pull him to me, kissing him. He moans against me and parts his lips, allowing me access to his warm, wet mouth. The sweet appreciative noise echoes through me – to the end of my cock. His tongue shyly meets mine, tentatively probing my mouth, and for some reason, his fumbling inexperience is…hot.

He tastes luscious. Wine, grapes, and innocence – a potent, heady mix of flavours. I fold my arms tightly around him, relieved that he grips only my upper arms. With one hand in his hair, holding him in place, I run my other down his spine to his ass and push him against me, against my erection. He moans again. I continue to kiss him, coaxing his unschooled tongue to explore my mouth as I explore his. My body tenses when he moves his hands up my arms – and for a moment I worry where he’ll touch me next. He caresses my cheek, then strokes my hair. It’s a little unnerving. But when he twists his fingers in my hair, pulling gently…

_Damn, that feels good._

I groan in response but can’t let him continue. Before he can touch me again, I push him against the bed and drop to my knees. I want him out of those jeans – I want to strip him, arouse him some more, and…keep his hands off me. Grasping his hips, I run my tongue just north of the waistband up to his navel. He tenses and inhales sharply. Fuck, does he smell and taste good, an orchard in springtime, and I want my fill. His hands fist in my hair once more; this I don’t mind – in fact, I like it. I nip his hipbone and his grip tightens in my hair. His eyes are closed, his mouth slack, and he’s panting. As I reach up and undo the zipper and move my hands around his ass. Slipping my hands inside the waistband, my palms against the soft cheeks of his behind, I slide his jeans off.

I can’t stop myself. I want to shock him…test his boundaries right now. Not taking my eyes off his, I deliberately lick my lips, then lean forward and run my nose up the centre of his underwear, inhaling his arousal. Closing my eyes, I savour him

_Lord, he’s enticing._

“You smell so good.” My voice is husky with want and my jeans are becoming extremely uncomfortable. I need to take them off. Gently, I push him onto the bed and, grasping his right foot, I make work of removing his sneaker and sock. To tease him I run my thumbnail along his instep and he writhes gratifyingly on the bed, his mouth open, watching me, fascinated. Leaning down, I trace my tongue along his instep, and my teeth graze the little line that my thumbnail has left in its wake. He lies back on the bed, eyes closed, groaning.

He’s so responsive, it’s delightful.

“Oh, Louis, what I could do to you,” I whisper, as images of him writhing beneath me in my playroom flash through my mind: shackled to my four-poster bed, bent over the table – suspended from the cross. I could tease and torture him until he begged for release…the images make my jeans even tighter.

_Hell._

Quickly I remove his other shoe and sock, and pull off his jeans. He’s almost naked on my bed, his hair framing his face perfectly, his tanned legs stretched out in invitation before me. I have to make allowances for his inexperience. But he’s panting. Wanting. His eyes fixed on me.

I’ve never fucked anyone in my bed before. _Another first with Mr Tomlinson._

“You’re very beautiful, Louis Tomlinson. I can’t wait to be inside you.” My voice is gentle; I want to tease him some more, find out what he does know. “Show me how you pleasure yourself,” I ask, gazing intently down at him.

He frowns.

“Don’t be coy, Lou, show me.” Part of me wants to spank the shyness out of him.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

_Is he playing games?_

“How do you make yourself come? I want to see.”

He remains mute. Clearly, I’ve shocked him again. “I don’t,” he mutters finally, his voice is breathless. I gaze at him in disbelief. Even I used to masturbate, before Nick sunk his claws into me.

He’s probably never had an orgasm – though I find this hard to believe. _Whoa._ I’m responsible for his first fuck and his first orgasm. I’d better make this good.

“Well, we’ll have to see what we can do about that.” _I’m going to make you come like a freight train, baby._

_Hell_ – he’s probably never seen a naked man, either. Not taking my eyes off his, I undo the top button on my jeans and ease them onto the floor, though I can’t risk taking my shirt off, because he might touch me.

_But if he did…it wouldn’t be so bad…would it? Being touched?_

I banish the thought before the darkness surfaces, and grasping his ankles, I spread his legs. His eyes widen and his hands clench my sheets.

_Yes. Keep your hands there, baby._

I crawl slowly up the bed, between his legs. He squirms beneath me.

“Keep still,” I tell him, and lean down to kiss the delicate skin of his inner thigh. I trail kisses up his thighs, over his briefs, across his belly, nipping and sucking as I go. He writhes beneath me.

“We’re going to have to work on keeping you still, baby.”

If you’ll let me.

I’ll teach him to just absorb the pleasure and not move, intensifying every touch, every kiss, every nip. The thought alone is enough to make me want to bury myself in him, but before I do, I want to know how responsive he is. So far he hasn’t held back. He’s allowing me free rein over his body. He’s not hesitant at all. He wants this…he really wants this. I dip my tongue into his navel and continue my leisurely journey north, savouring him. I shift, lying beside him, one leg still between his. My hand ghosts up his body, over his hip, up his waist, on to his chest, trying to gauge his reaction. He doesn’t stiffen. He doesn’t stop me…he trusts me. Can I extend his trust to letting me have complete dominion over his body…over him? The thought is exhilarating.

His nipples are small, rose pink, and already really hard. I watch as his nipples grow under my steady gaze, _whoa_ …I haven’t even touched him yet.

“Very nice,” I whisper in awed appreciation, and blow gently on the nearest nipple, watching in delight as it hardens and extends. Louis closes his eyes and arches his back.

_Keep still, baby, just absorb the pleasure, it will feel so much more intense_.

Blowing on one nipple, I roll the other gently between my thumb and forefinger. He grasps the sheets tightly as I lean down and suck – hard. His body bows again and he cries out.

“Let’s see if we can make you come like this,” I whisper, and I don’t stop. He starts to whimper.

_Oh, yes, baby…feel this._ His nipples extend farther and he starts grinding his hips, around and around. _Keep still, baby. I will teach you to keep still._

“Oh, please,” he begs. His legs stiffen. It’s working. He’s close. I continue my lascivious assault. Concentrating on each nipple, watching his response, sensing his pleasure, is driving me to distraction. Lord, I want him.

“Let’s go, baby,” I murmur, and pull his nipple with my teeth. He cries out and climaxes.

_Yes!_ I move quickly to kiss him, capturing his cries in my mouth. He’s breathless and panting, lost in his pleasure… _Mine._ I own his first orgasm, and I’m ridiculously pleased by the thought.

“You’re very responsive. You’re going to have to learn how to control that, and its going to be so much fun teaching you how.” I can’t wait…but right now, I want him.  All of him. I kiss him once more and bring my fingers up to my mouth, pushing my index finger in, I wet it best I can. I let my hand travel down his body, down to his vulva. I hold him, feeling his heat.

Slipping my index finger through his tight, _so tight_ , briefs, I slowly circle around him… _fuck, he’s so ready._

“You’re so deliciously tight. God, I want you.” I thrust my finger inside him, and he cries out. He’s hot and tight and wet, and I want him. I thrust into him again, taking his cries into my mouth. I press my palm into his cock, pushing down, applying the heavy pressure he so desperately wants. He cries out and writhes beneath me. _Fuck,_ I want him – now. He’s ready. Sitting up, I drag his briefs off, then my boxers, and reach for a condom. I kneel up and between his legs, pushing them farther apart. Louis watches me with – what? Trepidation? He’s probably never seen someone else’s erect penis before.

“Don’t worry. You expand, too,” I mutter.

Stretching out over him, I put my hands on either side of his head, taking my weight on my elbows. God, I want him…but I check he’s still keen. “You really want to do this?” I ask.

_For fuck’s sake, please don’t say no._

“Please,” he begs.

“Pull your knees up,” I instruct him. This’ll be easier. Have I ever been so aroused? I can barely contain myself. I don’t get it…it must be him.

_Why?_

_Styles, focus!_

I position myself so I can take him at my whim. His eyes open wide, imploring me. He really wants this…as much as I do. Should I be gentle and prolong the agony, or do I go for it?

I go for it. I need to possess him.

“I’m going to fuck you now, Mr Tomlinson. Hard.”

One thrust and I’m inside him.

He’s so fucking tight. He cries out.

Shit! I’ve hurt him. I want to move, to lose myself in him, and it takes all my restraint to stop. “You’re so tight. You okay?” I ask, my voice a hoarse, anxious whisper, and he nods, eyes wider. He’s like heaven on earth, so tight around me. And even though his hands are on my forearms, I don’t care. The darkness is slumbering, perhaps because I’ve wanted him for so long. I’ve never felt this desire, this… _hunger_ before. It’s a new feeling, new and shiny. I want so much from him: his thrust, his obedience, his submission. I want him to be mine, but right now…I’m his.

“I’m going to move, baby.” My voice is strained as I ease back slowly. It’s such an extraordinary, exquisite feeling: his body cradling my cock. I push into him again and claim him, knowing no one has before. He whimpers.

I stop. “More?”

“Yes,” he breathes, after a moment.

This time I thrust into him more deeply.

“Again?” I plead, as sweat beads on my body.

“Yes.”

His thrust in me – is suddenly overwhelming, and I start to move, really move. I want him to come. I will not stop until he comes. I want to own this man, body and soul. I want him clenching around me.

_Fuck_ – he starts meeting every thrust, matching my rhythm _. See how well we fit together, Lou?_ I grasp his head, holding him in place while I claim his body and kiss him hard, claiming his mouth. He stiffens beneath me… _fuck yes_. His orgasm is close.

“Come for me, Lou,” I demand, and he cries out as he’s consumed, tipping his head back, his mouth open, his eyes closed…and just the sight of his ecstasy is enough. I explode in him, losing all sense and reason, as I call out his name and some violently inside him.

When I open my eyes I’m panting, trying to catch my breath, and we’re forehead to forehead and he’s staring up at me.

_Fuck_. I’m undone.

I plant a swift kiss on his forehead and pull out of him and lie down beside him.

He winces as I withdraw, but other than that he looks okay.

“Did I hurt you?” I ask, and I tuck brush his hair from his forehead, because I don’t want to stop touching him.

Louis beams with incredulity. “You are asking me if you hurt me?”

And for a moment I don’t know why he’s grinning.

Oh. My playroom.

“The irony is not lost on me,” I mutter. Even now he confounds me. “Seriously, are you okay?”

He stretches out beside me, testing his body and teasing me with an amused but sated expression.

“You haven’t answered me,” I growl. I need to know if he found that enjoyable. All the evidence points to a “yes” – but I need to hear it from him. While I’m waiting for his reply, I remove the condom. Lord, I hate these things. I discard it discreetly on the floor.

He peers up at me. “I’d like to do that again,” he says with a shy giggle.

_What?_

_Again?_

_Already?_

“Would you now, Mr Tomlinson?” I kiss the corner of his mouth. “Demanding little thing, aren’t you? Turn on your front.”

_That way I know you won’t touch me._

He gives me a brief smile, then rolls onto his stomach. My cock stirs with approval. I run my hand down his smooth back and down to part his behind. “You really have the most beautiful skin,” I say, as I brush his hair off his face and push his legs apart. Gently I plant soft kisses on his shoulder.

“Why are you wearing your shirt?” he asks.

He’s so damn inquisitive. While he’s on his front I know he can’t touch me, so I lean back and pull my shirt over my head and let it drop to the floor. Fully naked, I lie on top of him. His skin is warm, and melts against mine.

_Hmm…I could get used to this._

“So, you want me to fuck you again?” I whisper in his ear, kissing him. He squirms deliciously against me.

_Oh, this will never do. Keep still, baby._

I skim my hand down his body to the back of his knee, then hitch it up high, parting his legs wide so that he’s spread beneath me. His breath catches and I hope it’s with anticipation. He stills beneath me.

_Finally!_

I palm his ass as I ease my weight into him. “I’m going to take you now, Louis.” With my other hand I grab his hair at the nape and tug gently, holding him in place. He cannot move. His hands are helpless and splayed against the sheets, out of harm’s way.

“You are mine,” I whisper. “Only mine. Don’t forget it.”

With my free hand I move from his ass to his cock and begin tugging gently.

His muscles flex beneath me as he tries to move, but my weight keeps him in place. I run my teeth along his jawline. His sweet fragrance lingers over the scent of our coupling. “You smell divine,” I whisper, as I nuzzle behind his ear.

He starts to push his hips up against my moving hand.

“Keep still,” I warn.

_Or I might stop…_

Slowly I insert my thumb alongside my cock inside him and circle it around and around, taking particular care to stroke his length in time with my movements.

He groans and tenses beneath me, trying to move again.

“You like this?” I tease, and my teeth trace his outer ear. I don’t stop my hand from tormenting his cock, but I begin to ease my thumb in and out of him. He stiffens but can’t move.

“You’re so stretched, so quickly. So responsive. Oh, Louis, I like that. I like that a lot.”

_Right. Let’s see how far you’ll go._

I withdraw my thumb from him. “Open your mouth,” I order, and when he does, I thrust my thumb between his lips.

“See how you taste. Suck me, baby.”

He sucks my thumb…hard.

_Fuck._

And for a moment I imagine it’s my cock in his mouth.

“I want to fuck your mouth, Louis, and I will soon.” I’m breathless.

He closes his teeth around me, biting me hard.

_Ow! Fuck._

I grip his hair rightly and he loosens his mouth. “Naughty, sweet boy.” My mind flits through a number of punishments worthy of such a bold move that, if he were my submissive, I could inflict on him. My cock expands to bursting at the thought. I release him and sit back on my knees.

“Stay still, don’t move.” I grab another condom from my bedside table, rip open the foil, and roll the latex over my erection.

Watching him, I see that he’s still, except for the rise and fall of his back as he pants in anticipation.

He’s gorgeous.

Leaning over him again, I grasp his hair and hold him so he can’t move his head.

“We’re going to go real slow this time, Louis.”

He gasps, and gently I ease into him until I can go no farther.

_Fuck._ He feels good.

As I ease out, I circle my hips and slowly slip into him again. He whimpers and his limbs tense beneath me as he tries to move.

_Oh no, baby._

_I want you still._

_I want you to feel this._

_Take all the pleasure._

“You feel so good,” I tell him, and repeat the move again, circling my hips as I go. Slowly. In. Out. In. Out. His insides start to tremble.

“Oh no, baby, not yet.”

_No way am I letting you come._

_Not when I’m enjoying this so much._

“Oh, please,” he cries.

“I want you sore, baby.” I pull out and sink into him again. “Every time you move tomorrow, I want you to be reminded that I’ve been here. Only me. You are mine.”

“Please, Harry,” he begs.

“What do you want, Louis? Tell me.”

I continue the slow torture. “Tell me.”

“You, please.” He’s desperate.

He wants me.

_Good boy._

I increase the pace and his insides begin to quiver, responding immediately.

Between each thrust I utter one word.

“You. Are. So. Sweet. I. Want. You. So. Much. You. Are. Mine.” His limbs tremble with the strain of keeping still. He’s on the edge. “Come for me, baby,” I growl.

And on command he shudders around me as his orgasm rips through him and screams my name into the mattress.

My name on his lips is my undoing, and I climax and collapse on top of him.

“Fuck. Lou,” I whisper, drained yet elated. I pull out of him almost immediately and roll onto my back. He curls up at my side, and as I pull off the condom, he closes his eyes and falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Love, love, love x


	7. Innocence Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhhh…
> 
> I can't believe I haven't updated for over a month!! I'm so sorry, just needed some time to get back into the swing of things I guess. I hope this chapter makes up for it?
> 
> Thanks for coming back to read :)
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Not my story line, not my characters!!!

** Sunday, May 22, 2011 **

I wake with a start and a pervading sense of guilt, as if I’ve committed a terrible sin.

_Is it because I’ve fucked Louis Tomlinson?_

_Virgin?_

He’s snuggles up fast asleep beside me.

I check the radio alarm: it’s after three in the morning. Lou sleeps the sound sleep of an innocent. Well, not so innocent now. My body stirs as I watch him.

I could wake him.

Fuck him again.

There are definitely some advantages to having him in my mind.

_Styles. Stop this nonsense._

Fucking him was merely a means to an end and a pleasant diversion.

Yes. Very pleasant.

_More like incredible._

It was just sex, for fuck’s sake.

I close my eyes in what will probably be a futile attempt to sleep. But the room is too full of Louis: his scent, the sound of his soft breathing, and the memory of my first vanilla fuck. Visions of his head thrown back in passion, of him crying out a barely recognisable version of my name, and his unbridled enthusiasm for sexual congress overwhelm me.

Mr Tomlinson is a carnal creature.

He will be a joy to train.

My cock twitches in agreement.

_Shit._

I can’t sleep, though tonight it’s not nightmares that keep me awake, it’s little Mr Tomlinson. Climbing out of bed, I collect the used condoms from the floor, knot them, and dispose of them in the wastepaper basket. From the chest of drawers, I pull out a pair of PJ pants and drag them on. With a lingering look at the enticing man in my bed, I venture into the kitchen. I’m thirsty.

Once I’ve had a glass of water, I do what I always do when I can’t sleep – I check my e-mail in my study. Taylor has returned and is asking if he can stand _Charlie Tango_ down. Stephan must be asleep upstairs. I e-mail him back with a “yes,” though at this time of night it’s a given.

Back in the living room I sit down at my piano. This is my solace, where I can lose myself for hours. I’ve been able to play well since I was nine, but it wasn’t until I had my own piano, in my own place, that it really became a passion. When I want to forget everything, this is what I do. And right now, I don’t want to think about having propositioned a virgin, fucked him, or revealed my lifestyle to someone with no experience. With my hands on the keys, I begin to play and lose myself in the solitude of Bach.

A movement distracts me from the music, and when I look up Louis is standing by the piano. Wrapped in a comforter, his hair wild and curling round his neck, eyes luminous, he looks stunning.

“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Why is he apologising? “Surely, I should be saying that to you.” I play the last notes and stand. “You should be in bed,” I chide.

“That was a beautiful piece. Batch?”

“Transcription by Bach, but it’s originally an oboe concerto by Alessandro Marcello.”

“It was exquisite, but very sad, such a melancholy melody.”

 _Melancholy?_ It wouldn’t be the first time someone has used that word to describe me.

_“May I speak freely? Sir.” Lucas is kneeling beside me while I work._

_“You may.”_

_“Sir, you are most melancholiest today.”_

_“Am I?”_

_“Yes, Sir. Is there something that you would like me to do…?”_

I shake off the memory. Louis should be in bed. I tell him so again.

“I woke and you weren’t there.”

“I find it difficult to sleep, and I’m not used to sleeping with anyone.” I’ve told him this – and why am I justifying myself? I wrap my arm around his naked shoulders, enjoying the feel of his skin, and guide him back to the bedroom.

“Hoe long have you been playing? You play beautifully.”

“Since I was six.” I’m abrupt.

“Oh,” he says, I think he’s taken the hint – I don’t want to talk about my childhood.

“How are you feeling?” I ask as I switch on the bedside light.

“I’m good.”

There’s blood on my sheets. His blood. Evidence of his now-absent virginity. His eyes dart from the stains to me and he looks away, embarrassed.

“Well, that’s going to give Mrs. Jones something to think about.”

He looks mortified.

 _It’s just your body, sweetheart._ I grasp his chin and tip his head back so I can see his expression. I’m about to give him a short lecture on how not to be ashamed of his body, when he reaches out to touch my chest.

_Fuck._

I step out of his reach as the darkness surfaces.

_No. Don’t touch me._

“Get into bed,” I order, rather more sharply that I’d intended, but I hope he doesn’t detect my fear, His eyes widen with confusion and maybe hurt.

_Damn._

“I’ll come and lie down with you,” I add, as a peace offering, and from the chest of drawers I pull out a T-short and quickly slip it on, for protection.

He’s still standing, staring at me. “Bed,” I command more forcefully. He scrambles into my bed and lies down, and I climb in behind him, folding him in my arms. I bury my face in his hair and inhale his sweet scent: autumn and apple trees. Facing away, he can’t touch me, and while I lie there, I resolve to spoon with him until he’s asleep. Then I’ll get up and do some work.

“Sleep, sweet Louis.” I kiss his hair and close my eyes. His scent fills my nostrils, reminding me of a happy time and leaving me replete…content, even…

_Mommy is happy today. She is singing._

_Singing about what love has to do with it._

_And cooking. And singing._

_My tummy gurgles. She is cooking bacon and waffles._

_They smell good. My tummy likes bacon and waffles._

_They smell so good._

Opening my eyes, light is flooding through the windows and there’s a mouth-watering aroma coming from the kitchen. Bacon. Momentarily I’m confused. Is Gail back from her sisters?

Then I remember.

_Lou._

A look at the clock tells me it’s late. I bounce out of bed and follow my nose to the kitchen.

There’s Louis. He’s wearing my shirt, his hair loose, dancing around to some music. Only I can’t hear it. He’s wearing earbuds. Unobserved, I take a seat at the kitchen counter and watch the show. He’s whisking eggs, making breakfast, his hair bouncing as he jiggles from foot to foot, and I realise he’s not wearing underwear.

_Good boy._

He must be one of the most uncoordinated males I’ve ever seen. It’s amusing, charming, and strangely arousing at the same time; I think of all the ways I can improve his coordination. When he turns and spots me, he freezes.

“Good morning, Mr Tomlinson. You’re very…energetic this morning.” He looks even younger with his hair like that.

“I-I slept well,” he stammers.

“I can’t imagine why,” I quip, admitting to myself that I did too. It’s ater nine. When did I last sleep past 6:30?

_Yesterday?_

After I’d slept with him.

“Are you hungry?” he asks.

“Very.” And I’m not sure if it’s for breakfast or for him.

“Pancakes, bacon, and eggs?” he says.

“Sounds great.”

“I don’t know where you keep your placemats,” he says, seeming at a loss, and I think he’s embarrassed, because I caught him dancing. Taking pity on him, I offer to set places for breakfast and add, “Would you like me to put some music on so you can continue your…er…dancing?”

His cheeks pink and he looks down at the floor.

 _Damn._ I’ve upset him. “Please, don’t stop on my account. It’s very entertaining.”

With a pout he turns his back on me and continues to whisk the eggs with gusto. I wonder if he has any idea how disrespectful this is to someone like me…but of course he doesn’t, and for some unfathomable reason it makes me smile. Sliding up to him, I gently tug the back of his hair. “I love your hair like this. It won’t protect you.”

_Not from me. Not now that I’ve had you._

“How would you like your eggs?” His tone is unexpectedly haughty. And I want to laugh out loud, but I resist.

“Thoroughly whisked and beaten,” I reply, trying and failing to sound deadpan. He attempts to hide his amusement, too, and continues his task.

His smile is bewitching.

Hastily, I set up the placements, wondering when I last did this for someone else.

_Never._

Normally over the weekend my submissive would take care of all domestic tasks.

_Not today, Styles, because he’s not your submissive…yet._

I pour us both orange juice and put the coffee on. He doesn’t drink coffee, only tea.

“Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please. If you have some.”

In the cupboard I find the Twinning’s teabags I’d ask Gail to buy.

Well, well, who would have thought I’d ever get to use them?

He frowns when he sees them. “Bit of a foregone conclusion, wasn’t I?”

“Are you? I’m not sure we’ve concluded anything yet, Mr Tomlinson,” I answer with a stern look.

_And don’t talk about yourself like that._

I add his self-deprecation to the list of behaviours that will need modifying.

He avoids my gaze, busy with serving up breakfast. Two plates are placed on the placemats, then he fetches the maple syrup out of the fridge.

When he looks up at me, I’m waiting for him to sit down. “Mr Tomlinson.” I indicate where he should sit.

“Mr. Styles,” he replies, with contrived formality, and winces as he sits.

“Just how sore are you?” I’m surprised by an uneasy sense of guilt. I want to fuck him again, preferably after breakfast, but if he’s too sore that will be out of the question. Perhaps I could use his mouth this time.

The colour in his face rises. “Well, to be truthful, I have nothing to compare this to,” he says tartly. “Did you wish to offer your commiserations?” His sarcastic tone takes me by surprise. If he were mine, it would earn him a spanking at least, maybe over the kitchen counter.

“No. I wondered if we should continue your basic training.”

“Oh.” He startles.

_Yes, Louis, we can have sex during the day, too. And I’d like to fill that smart mouth of yours._

I take a bite of my breakfast and close my eyes in appreciation. It tastes mighty fine. When I swallow, he’s staring at me. “Eat, Louis,” I order. “This is delicious, incidentally.”

He can cook, and well.

Louis takes one bite of his food, then pushes his breakfast around on his plate. I ask him to stop biting his lip. “It’s very distracting, and I happen to know you’re not wearing anything under my shirt.”

He fidgets with his teabag and the teapot, ignoring my irritation. “What sort of basic training did you have in mind?” he asks.

He’s ever-curious – let’s see how far he’ll go.

“Well, as you’re sore, I thought we could stick to oral skills.”

He splutters into his teacup.

 _Hell._ I don’t want to choke the boy. Gently, I pat him on the back and hand him a glass of orange juice. “That’s if you want to stay.” I shouldn’t push my luck.

“I’d like to stay for today. If that’s okay. I have work tomorrow.”

“What time do you have to be at work tomorrow?”

“Nine.”

“I’ll get you to work by nine tomorrow.”

_What? I want him to stay?_

It’s a surprise to me.

_Yes. I want him to stay._

“I’ll need to go home tonight – I need clean clothes.”

“We can get you some here.”

He pushes his hair and gnaws nervously at his lip…again.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I need to be home this evening.”

Boy, he’s stubborn. I don’t want him to go, but at this stage, with no agreement, I can’t insist that he stay. “Okay, this evening. Now eat your breakfast.”

He examines his food.

“Eat, Louis. You didn’t eat last night.”

“I’m really not hungry,” he says.

Well, this is frustrating. “I would really like you to finish your breakfast.” My voice is low.

“What is it with you and food?” he snaps.

_Oh, baby, you really don’t want to know._

“I told you, I have issues with wasted food. Eat.” I glare at him. _Don’t push me on this, Lou._ He gives me a mulish look and starts to eat.

As I watch him place a forkful of eggs in his mouth, I relax. He’s quite challenging in his own way. And it’s unique. I’ve never dealt with this. _Yes._ That’s it. He’s a novelty. That’s the fascination…isn’t it?

When he finishes his food, I take his plate.

“You cooked; I’ll clear.”

“That’s very democratic,” he says, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes. Not my usual style. After I’ve done this, we’ll take a bath.”

And I can test his oral skills. I take a swift breath to control my instant arousal at the thought.

_Hell._

His phone rings and he wanders to the end of the room, deep in conversation. I pause by the sink and watch him. As he stands against the glass wall, the morning light silhouettes his body in my white shirt. My mouth dries. He’s slim, with silky legs, and a perfect ass.

Still on his call, he turns toward me and I pretend my attention is elsewhere. For some reason I don’t want him to catch me ogling.

_Who is it on the phone?_

I hear Malik’s name mentioned and I tense. _What is he saying?_ Our eyes lock.

_What are you saying Louis?_

He turns away and a moment later hangs up, then walks back toward me, his hips swaying in a soft, seductive rhythm beneath my shirt. _Should I tell him what I can see?_

“The NDA, does it cover everything?” he asks, halting me in my tracks as I shut the pantry cupboard.

“Why?” _Where’s he going with this? What has he said to Malik?_

He takes a deep breath. “Well, I have a few questions, you know, about sex. And I’d like to ask Zayn.”

“You can ask me.”

“Harry, with all due respect – “He stops.

_He’s embarrassed?_

“It’s just about mechanics. I won’t mention the Red Room of Pain,” he says in a rush.

“Red Room of Pain?”

_What the hell?_

“It’s mostly about pleasure, Louis. Believe me. Besides, your roommate is making the beast with two backs with my brother. I’d really rather you didn’t.”

I don’t want Liam to know anything about my sex life. He’d never let me live it down.

“Does your family know about your…um, predilection?”

“No. It’s none of their business.”

He’s burning to ask something.

“What do you want to know?” I ask, standing in front of him, scrutinizing his face.

_What is it Lou?_

“Nothing specific at the moment,” he whispers.

“Well, we can start with: how was last night for you?” My breathing shallows as I wait for his answer. Our whole deal could hang on his response.

“Good,” he says, and gives me a soft, sexy smile.

_It’s what I want to hear._

“For me, too. I’ve never had vanilla sex before. There’s a lot to be said for it. But then, maybe it’s because it’s with you.”

His surprise and pleasure at my words are obvious. I brush his plump lower lip with my thumb. I’m itching to touch him…again. “Come, let’s have a bath.” I kiss him and take him into my bathroom.

“Stay there,” I order, turning the faucet, then adding scented oil to the steaming water. The tub fills quickly as he watches me. Normally, I would expect any man I was about to bathe with to have his eyes cast down in modesty.

But not Louis.

He doesn’t drop his gaze, and his eyes glow with anticipation and curiosity. But he has his arms wrapped around himself; he’s shy.

It’s arousing.

And to think he’s never bathed with another man.

I can claim another first.

When the bath is full, I peel off my T-shirt and hold out my hand. “Mr Tomlinson.”

He accepts my invitation and steps into the bath.

“Turn around, face me,” I instruct. “I know that lip is delicious, I can attest to that, but will you stop biting it? Your chewing it makes me want to fuck you, and you’re sore, okay?”

He inhales sharply, releasing his lip.

“Yeah. Get the picture?”

Still standing he gives me an empathetic nod.

“Good.” He’s still wearing my shirt and I take the iPod from the breast pocket and place it by the sink. “Water and iPods – not a clever combination.” I grab the hem and pull it off him. Immediately he hangs his head when I step back to admire him.

“Hey.” My voice is gentle and encourages him to peek up at me. “Louis, you’re a very beautiful man, the whole package. Don’t hang your head like you’re ashamed. You have nothing to be ashamed of, and it’s a real joy to stand here and look at you.” Holding his chin, I tip his head back.

_Don’t hide from me baby._

“You can sit down now.”

He sits down with indecent haste and winces as his sore body hits the water.

_Okay…_

He screws his eyes shut as he lies back, but when he opens them, he looks more relaxed. “Why don’t you join me?” he asks with a coy smile.

“I think I will. Move forward.” Stripping, I climb in behind him, pull him to my chest, and place my legs around his, my feet over his ankles, and then I pull his legs apart.

He wriggles against me, but I ignore his motion and bury my nose in his hair. “You smell so good, Louis,” I whisper.

He settles as I grab the body wash from the shelf beside us. Squeezing some into my hand, I work the soap into a lather and start massaging his neck and shoulders. He moans as his head lolls to one side under my tender ministration.

“You like that?” I ask.

“Hmm,” he hums in contentment.

I wash his arms and his underarms, then reach my first goal: his chest.

_Lord, the feel of him._

He has perfect nipples. I knead and tease them. He groans and flexes his hips and his breathing accelerates. He’s aroused. My body responds in kind, growing beneath him. My hands skim over his torso and his belly toward my second goal. Before I get to claim what’s mine, I stop and grab a washcloth. Squirting some soap onto the cloth, I begin the slow process of washing between his legs. Gentle, slow but sure, rubbing, washing, cleaning, stimulating. He starts to pant, and his hips move in synchronisation with my hand. His head resting against my shoulder, his eyes closed, his mouth open in a silent moan as he surrenders to my relentless fingers.

“Feel me, baby.” I run my teeth along his earlobe. “Feel it for me.”

“Oh, please,” he whines, and he tries to straighten his legs, but I have them pinned under mine.

_Enough._

Now that he’s all worked up into a lather, I’m ready to proceed.

“I think you’re clean enough now,” I announce, and take my hands off of him.

“Why are you stopping?” he protests, his eyes fluttering open, revealing frustration and disappointment.

“Because I have other plans for you, Louis.”

He’s panting and, if I’m not mistaken, pouting.

_Good._

“Turn around I need washing, too.”

He does, his face rosy, his eyes bright, pupils large.

Lifting my hips, I grab my cock. “I want you to become well acquainted, on first name terms, if you will, with my favourite and most cherished part of my body. I’m very attached to this.”

His mouth drops open as he looks from my cock to my face…and back again. I can’t help my wicked grin. His face is a picture of maidenly outrage.

But as he stares, his expression changes. First thoughtful, then assessing, and when his eyes meet mine, the challenge in them is clear.

_Oh, bring it on, Mr Tomlinson._

His smile is one of delight as he reaches for the body wash. Taking his sweet time, he drizzles some of the soap into his palm and, without taking his eyes off mine, rubs his hands together. His lips part and he bites his bottom lip, running his tongue across the little indentations left by his teeth.

_Louis Tomlinson, mass seducer!_

My cock responds in appreciation, hardening further. Reaching forward, he grabs me, his hand fisting around me. My breath hisses out through clenched teeth and I close my eyes, savouring the moment.

_Here, I don’t mind being touched._

No, I don’t mind at all…placing my hand over his, I show him what to do. “Like this.” My voice is hoarse as I guide him. He tightens his hold around me and his hand moves up and down beneath mine.

_Oh yes._

“That’s right, baby.”

I release him and let him continue, closing my eyes and surrendering to the rhythm he’s set.

_Oh, God._

What is it about his inexperience that is so arousing? Is it that I’m enjoying all his firsts?

Suddenly he draws me into his mouth, sucking hard, his tongue torturing me.

_Fuck._

“Ah...Lou!”

He sucks harder; his eyes are alight with feminine cunning. This is his revenge, his tit for tat. He looks stunning.

“Christ,” I growl, and close my eyes so I don’t come immediately. He continues his sweet torture, and as his confidence grows, I flex my hips, pushing myself farther into his mouth.

_How far can I go, baby?_

Watching him is stimulating, so stimulating. I grab his hair and start to work his mouth as he supports himself with his hands on my thighs.

“Oh. Baby. That. Feels. Good.”

He confines his teeth behind his lips and pulls me into his mouth once more.

“Ah!” I groan and wonder how deep he’ll allow me. His mouth torments me, his shielded teeth squeezing hard. And I want more. “Jesus. How far can you go?”

His eyes meet mine and he frowns. Then, with a look of determination, he slides down on me until I hit the back of his throat.

_Fuck._

“Louis, I’m going to come in your mouth,” I warn him, breathless. “If you don’t want me to, stop now.” I thrust into him again and again, watching my cock disappear and reappear from his mouth. It’s beyond erotic. I’m so close. Suddenly he bares his teeth, gently squeezing me, and I’m undone, ejaculating into the back of his throat, crying out my pleasure.

_Fuck._

My breathing is laboured. He’s completely disarmed me…again!

When I open my eyes, he’s glowing with pride.

As he should be. That was one hell of a blow job.

“Don’t you have a gag reflex?” I marvel at him as I catch my breath. “Christ, Lou…that was…good, really good. Unexpected, though. You know, you never cease to amaze me.” Praise for a job well done.

Wait, that was so good, perhaps he has some experience after all. “Have you done that before?” I ask, and I’m not sure I want to know.

“No,” he says with obvious pride.

“Good.” I hope my relief is not too obvious. “Yet another first, Mr Tomlinson. Well, you get an A in oral skills. Come, let’s go to bed, I owe you an orgasm.”

I climb out of the bath a little dazed and wrap a towel around my waist. Grabbing another, I hold it up and help him out of the bath, swathing him in it so he’s trapped. I hold him against me, kissing him, really kissing him. Exploring his mouth with my tongue.

I taste my ejaculate in his mouth. Grasping his head, I deepen the kiss.

I want him.

All of him.

His body and soul.

I want him to be mine.

Staring down into bemused eye, I implore him. “Say yes.”

“To what?” he whispers.

“Yes, to our arrangement. To being mine. Please, Lou.” And it’s the closest I’ve come to begging in a long time. I kiss him again, pouring my fervour into my kiss. When I take his hand, he looks dazed.

_Dazzle him further, Styles._

In my bedroom, I release him. “Trust me?” I ask.

He nods.

“Good boy.”

_Good. Beautiful. Boy._

I head into my closet to select one of my ties. When I’m back in front of him, I take his towel and drop it on the floor. “Hold your hands together in front of you.”

He licks his lips in what I think is a moment of uncertainty, then holds out his hands. Swiftly I bind his wrists together with the tie. I test the know. _Yes._ It’s secure.

_Time for more training, Mr Tomlinson._

His lips part as he inhales…he’s excited.

Gently I tug his hair. “You look so young with your hair like this.” But that’s not going to stop me. I drop my towel. “Oh, Louis, what shall I do to you?” I grasp his upper arms and push him gently back on the bed, keeping hole of him so that he doesn’t fall.

Once he’s prostate, I lie down beside him, garb his fists, and raise them above his head. “Keep your hands up here, don’t move them. Understand?”

He swallows.

“Answer me.”

“I won’t move my hands,” he says, his voice husky.

“Good boy.” I can’t help my smile. He lies beside me, wrists bound, helpless. _Mine._

Not quite to do with as I wish – yet – but getting there.

Leaning down, I kiss him lightly and let him know that I’ll kiss him all over.

He sighs as my lips move from the base of his ear down to the hollow at the bottom of his neck. I’m rewarded with his appreciative moan. Abruptly he lowers his arms so that they circle my neck.

_No. No. No. This will not do, Mr Tomlinson._

Glaring down at him, I place them firmly back above his head. “Don’t move your hands, or we just have to start all over again.”

“I won’t touch you,” he whispers.

“I know.” _But you can’t_. “Keep your hands above your head.”

His lips are parted, and his chest is heaving with each rapid breath. He’s turned on.

_Good._

Cupping his chin, I start kissing my way down his body. My hand travels to his nipples, my lips in hot pursuit. With one hand on his belly, holding him in place, I pay homage to each of his nipples, sucking and nipping gently, delighting in their hardening response.

He mewls and his hips start to move.

“Keep still,” I warn against his skin. I plant kisses across his belly, where my tongue explores the taste and depth of his navel.

“Ah,” he moans and squirms.

I will have to teach him to keep still…

My teeth graze his skin. “Hmmm. You are so sweet, Mr Tomlinson.” I gently nip between his navel and pubic hair, then sit up between his legs. Grabbing both his ankles, I spread his legs wide. Like this, naked, vulnerable, he is a glorious sight to behold. Holding his left foot, I bend his knee and raise his toes to my lips, watching his face as I do. I kiss each toe, then bite the soft pad on each.

His eyes are wide, and his mouth is open, moving alternately from a small to a capital O. When I bite the pad on his little toe a little harder, his pelvis flexes and he whimpers. I run my tongue over his instep to his ankle. He scrunches his eyes closed, his head twisting from side to side, as I continue to torment him.

“Oh, please,” he begs when I suck and bite his little toe.

“All good things, Mr Tomlinson,” I tease.

When I get to his knee, I don’t stop but continue, licking, sucking, and biting up the inside of his thigh, spreading his legs wide as I do.

He trembles, in shock, anticipating my tongue at the apex of his thighs.

_Oh no…not yet, Mr Tomlinson._

I return my attentions to his left leg, kissing and nipping from his knee up the inside of his thigh.

He tenses when I finally lie between his legs. But he keeps his arms raised.

_Good boy._

Gently, I run my nose up and down his vulva.

He writhes beneath me.

I stop. He has to learn to keep still.

He raises his head to look at me.

“Do you know how intoxicating you smell, Mr Tomlinson?” Holding his stare with my own, I push my nose into his pubic hair and breathe deeply. His head flops back in the bed and he groans.

I blow gently up and down over his pubic hair. “I like this,” I mutter. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen pubic hair up close and personal like this. I tug it gently. “Perhaps we’ll keep this.”

Though it’s no good for wax play…

“Oh, please,” he pleads.

“Hmm, I like it when you beg me, Louis.”

He moans.

“Tit for tat is not my usual style, Mr Tomlinson,” I whisper against his flesh. “But you’ve pleased me today, and you should be rewarded.” And I hold down his thighs, opening him up to my tongue, and slowly start circling the tip of him. Slowly taking more and more of him into my waiting mouth.

He cries out, his body rising off the bed.

But I don’t stop. My tongue is ruthless. His legs stiffen his toes pointed.

_Ah, he’s close._

Moving my mouth over his hard cock, sucking and pulling, I move a finger down to his hole. Slipping it all the way in he moans.

“Oh, baby. I love that you’re so ready for me.” I start to move my finger clockwise, stretching him. My tongue continues to torture his shaft, over and over. He stiffens beneath me and finally cries out as his orgasm crashes through him.

_Yes!_

I kneel up and grab a condom. Once it’s on, slowly I ease myself into him.

Fuck, he feels good.

“How’s this?” I check.

“Fine. Good.” His voice is hoarse.

 _Oh…_ I start to move, revelling in the feeling of him around me, beneath me. Again, and again, faster and faster, losing myself in this man. I want him to come again.

I want him sated.

I want him happy.

Finally, he stiffens once more and whimpers.

“Come for me, baby,” I utter through clenched teeth, and he detonates around me.

“Thank fuck,” I cry, and let go, finding my own sweet release. Briefly I collapse on him, glorying in his softness. He moves his hands so they ate around my neck, but because he’s tied he can’t touch me.

Taking a deep breath, I rest my weight on my arms and stare down at him in wonder.

“See how good we are together? If you give yourself to me, it will be so much better. Trust me, Louis, I can take you places you don’t even know exist.” Our foreheads touch and I close my eyes.

_Please say yes._

We hear voices outside the door.

_What the hell?_

It’s Taylor and Anne.

“Shit! It’s my mother.”

Lou cringes as I pull out of him.

Leaping out of bed, I throw the condom in the wastepaper basket.

_What the hell is my mother doing here?_

Taylor has diverted her, thank heaven.

Well, she’s about to get a surprise.

Lou is still prostate on the bed. “Come on, we need to get dressed – that’s if you want to meet my mother.” I smile at Louis as I put on my jeans. He looks adorable.

“Harry – I can’t move,” he protests, but he’s grinning too.

Leaning down, I undo the tie and kiss his forehead.

_My mother is going to be thrilled._

“Another first,” I whisper, unable to shift my grin.

“I have no clean clothes in here.”

I slip on a white T-shirt, and when I turn around, he’s sitting up, hugging his knees.

“Perhaps I should stay here.”

“Oh no you don’t,” I warn. “You can wear something of mine.”

I like him wearing my clothes.

His face falls.

“Louis, you could be wearing a sack and you’d look lovely. Please don’t worry. I’d like you to meet my mother. Get dressed. I’ll just go and calm her down. I’ll expect you in that room in five minutes, otherwise I’ll come and drag you out of here myself in whatever you’re wearing. My T-shirts are in the closet. Help yourself.”

His eyes widen.

_Yes. I’m serious, baby._

Cautioning him with a pointed look, I open the door and exit to find my mother.

Anne is standing in the corridor opposite the foyer door, and Taylor is talking to her. Her face lights up when she sees me. “Darling, I had no idea you might have company,” she exclaims, and she looks a little embarrassed.

“Hello, Mother.” I kiss his proffered cheek. “I’ll deal with her from here,” I say to Taylor.

“Yes, Mr. Styles.” He nods, looking exasperated, and heads back into his office.

“Thank you, Taylor,” Anne calls after him, then turns her full attention to me. “Deal with me?” she says in rebuke. “I was shopping downtown, and I thought I might pop in for a coffee.” She stops. “If I’d known you weren’t alone…” She shrugs in and awkward, girlish way.

She has often stopped by for coffee and there was a man here…she just never knew.

“He’ll join us in a moment,” I admit, putting her out of her misery. “Do you want to sit down?” I wave in the direction of the sofa.

“He?”

“Yes, Mother. He.” My tone is dry as I try not to laugh. And for once she’s silent as she wanders through the living room.

“I see you’ve had breakfast,” she observes, eyeing the unwashed pans.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“No. Thank you, darling.” She sits down. “I’ll meet your friend and then I’ll go. I don’t want to interrupt you. I had a feeling that you’d be slaving away in your study. You work too hard, darling. I thought I might drag you away.” She looks almost apologetic when I join her on the sofa.

“Don’t worry.” I’m thoroughly amused by her reaction. “Why aren’t you at church this morning?”

“Carrick had to work, so we thought we’d go to evening Mass. I suppose it’s too much to hope that you’ll come with us.”

I raise an eyebrow in cynical contempt.

“Mother, you know that’s not for me.”

_God and I turned our backs on each other a long time ago._

She sighs, but then Louis appears – dressed in his own clothes, standing shyly in the doorway. The tension between mother and son is averted, and I stand in relief.

“Here he is.”

Anne turns and gets to her feet.

“Mother, this is Louis Tomlinson. Louis, this is Anne Trevelyan-Styles.”

They shake hands.

“What a pleasure to meet you,” Anne says with a little too much enthusiasm for my liking.

“Dr. Trevelyan-Styles,” Lou says politely.

“Call me Anne,” she says, all at once amiable and informal.

_What? Already?_

Anne continues, “I’m usually Dr. Trevelyan, and Mrs. Styles is my mother-in-law.” She winks at Lou and sits down. I motion to Louis and pat the cushion beside me, and he comes and takes a seat.

“So how did you two meet?” Anne asks.

“Louis interviewed me for the student paper at WSU because I’m conferring the degrees there this week.”

“So you’re graduating this week?” Anne beams at Louis.

“Yes.”

Louis phone starts ringing, and he excuses himself to answer it.

“And I’ll be giving the commencement address,” I say to Anne, but my attention is on Louis.

_Who is it?_

“Look, Niall, now’s not a good time,” I hear him say.

_That fucking photographer. What does he want?_

“I left a message for Liam, then found out he was in Portland. I haven’t seen him since last week,” Anne is saying.

Lou hangs up.

Anne continues as Louis approaches us again. “…and Liam called to say you were around – I haven’t seen you for two weeks, darling.”

“Did he now?” I remark.

_What does the photographer want?_

“I thought we might have lunch together, but I can see you have other plans, and I don’t want to interrupt your day.” Anne stands, and for once I’m grateful that she’s intuitive and can read a situation. She offers me her cheek again. I kiss her good-bye.

“I have to drive Louis back to Portland.”

“Of course, darling.” Anne turns her bright – and if I’m not mistaken, grateful – smile on Louis.

It’s irritating.

“Louis, it’s been such a pleasure.”

Anne beams and takes Lou’s hand. “I do hope we meet again.”

“Mrs. Styles?” Taylor appears on the threshold of the room.

“Thank you, Taylor,” Anne responds, and he escorts her from the room and through the double doors to the foyer.

_Well, that was interesting._

My mother’s always thought I was straight. But as she’s respected my boundaries, she’s never asked me.

Well, now she knows.

Louis is worrying his bottom lip, radiating anxiety…as he should be.

“So, the photographer called?” I sound gruff.

“Yes.”

“What did he want?”

“Just to apologise, you know – for Friday.”

“I see.” Maybe he wants another shot at him. The thought is displeasing.

Taylor clears his throat. “Mr. Styles, there’s an issue with the Darfur shipment.”

 _Shit._ This is what I get for not checking my e-mail this morning. I’ve been too preoccupied with Louis.

“ _Charlie Tango_ back at Boeing Field?” I ask Taylor.

“Yes, sir.”

Taylor acknowledges Lou with a nod.

“Mr Tomlinson.”

He gives him a broad smile and he leaves.

“Does he live here? Taylor?” Louis asks.

“Yes.”

Heading into the kitchen, I pick up my phone and quickly check my e-mail. There’s a flagged message from Ros and a couple of texts. I call her immediately.

“Ros, what’s the issue?”

“Harry, hi. The report back from Darfur is not good. They can’t guarantee the safety of the shipments or road crew, and the State Department isn’t willing to sanction the relief without the NGO’s backing.”

_Fuck this._

“I’m not having either crew put at risk.” Ros knows this.

“We could try and pull in mercenaries,” she says.

“No, cancel – “

“But the cost,” she protests.

“We’ll airdrop instead.”

“I knew that’s what you’d say, Harry. I have a plan in the works. It will be costly. In the meantime, the containers can go to Rotterdam out of Philly and we can take it from there. That’s it.”

“Good.” I hang up. More support from the State Department would be helpful. I resolve to call Blandino to discuss this further.

My attention reverts to Mr Tomlinson, who’s standing in my living room, regarding me warily. I need to get us back on track.

_Yes. The contract. That’s the next step in our negotiation._

In my study, I gather the papers that are on my desk and stuff them into a manila envelope.

Lou’s not moved from where I left him in the living room. Perhaps he’s been thinking about the photographer…my mood takes a nosedive.

“This is the contract.” I hold up the envelope. “Read it, and we’ll discuss it next weekend. May I suggest you do some research, so you know what’s involved?” He looks from the manila envelope to me, his face pale. “That’s if you agree, and I really hope you do,” I add.

“Research?”

“You’ll be amazed what you can find on the internet.”

He frowns.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I don’t have a computer. I usually use the computers at school. I’ll see if I can use Zayn’s laptop.”

 _No computer?_ How can a student not have a computer? Is he that broke? I hand him the envelope. “I’m sure I can, um – lend you one. Get your things, we’ll drive back to Portland and grab some lunch on the way. I need to dress.”

“I’ll just make a call,” he says, his voice soft and hesitant.

“The photographer?” I snap. He looks guilty.

 _What the hell?_ “I don’t like to share, Mr Tomlinson. Remember that.” I storm out of the room before I say anything else.

Is he hung up on him?

Was he just using me to break him in?

_Fuck._

Maybe it’s the money. That’s a depressing thought…though he doesn’t strike me as a gold digger. He was quite vehement about me not buying him any clothing. I remove my jeans and put on a pair of boxer briefs.

My Brioni tie is on the floor. I stoop to pick it up.

_He took to being tied up well…There’s hope, Styles. Hope._

I stuff the tie and two others into a messenger bag along with socks, underwear, and condoms.

_What am I doing?_

Deep down I know I’m going to stay at The Heathman all next week…to be near him. I gather a couple of suits and shirts that Taylor can bring down later in the week. I’ll need one for the graduation ceremony.

I slip on some clean jeans and grab a leather jacket, and my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Liam.

I’m driving back today in your car.

Hope that doesn’t screw up your plans.

I text back.

No. I’m coming back to Portland now.

Let Taylor know when you arrive.

I buzz Taylor through the internal phone system.

“Mr. Styles?”

“Liam is bringing the SUV back some time this afternoon. Bring it down to Portland tomorrow. I’m going to stay at The Heathman until the graduation ceremony. I’ve left some clothes that I’d like you to bring down as well.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And call Audi. I may need the A3 sooner than I thought.”

“It’s ready, Mr. Styles.”

“Oh. Good. Thanks”

So that’s the car taken care of; now it’s the computer. I call Barney, assuming he’ll be in his office, and knowing he’ll have a state-of-the-art laptop lying around.2

“Mr. Styles?” he answers.

“What are you doing in the office, Barney? It’s Sunday.”

“I’m working on the tablet design. The solar-cell issue us bugging me.”

“You need a home life.”

Barney has the grace to laugh. “What can I do for you, Mr. Styles?”

“Do you have any new laptops?”

“I have two right here from Apple.”

“Great. I need one.”

“Sure thing.”

“Can you set it up with an e-mail account for Louis Tomlinson? He’ll be the owner.”

“How are you spelling ‘Louis’?”

“L.O.U.I.S.”

“Cool.”

“Great. Andrea will be in touch today to arrange delivery.”

“Sure thing, sir.”

“Thanks, Barney – and go home.”

“Yes, sir.”

I text Andrea with instructions to send the laptop to Louis’ home address, then return to the living room. Louis is sitting on the sofa, fidgeting with his fingers. He gives me a cautious look and rises.

“Ready?” I ask.

He nods.

Taylor appears from his office. “Tomorrow, then.” I tell him.

“Yes, sir. Which car are you taking, sir?”

“The R8.”

“Safe trip, Mr. Styles. Mr. Tomlinson,” Taylor says, as he opens the foyer doors for us. Louis fidgets beside me as we wait for the elevator, his teeth on his plump lower lip.

It reminds me of his teeth on my cock.

“What is it, Louis?” I ask, as I reach out and pluck his chin. “Stop biting your lip, or I will fuck you in the elevator, and I don’t care who gets in with us,” I growl.

He’s shocked, I think – though why would he be after all we’ve done…My mood softens.

“Harry, I have a problem,” he says.

“Oh?”

In the elevator I press the button for the garage.

“W-Well,” he stutters, uncertain. Then he squares his shoulders. “I need to talk to Zayn. I’ve so many questions about sex, and you’re too involved. If you want me to do all these things, how do I know –?” He stops, as if weighing his words. “I just don’t have any terms of reference.”

Not this again. We’ve been over this. I don’t want him talking to anyone. He’s signed an NDA. But he’s asked, again. So it must be important to him. “Talk to him if you must. Make sure he doesn’t mention anything to Liam.”

“He wouldn’t do that, and I wouldn’t tell you anything he tells me about Liam – if he were to tell me anything,” he insists.

I remind him that I’m not interested in Liam’s sex life but agree that he can talk about what we’ve done so far. His roommate would have my balls if he knew my real intentions.

“Okay,” Louis says, and gives me a bright smile.

“The sooner I have your submission the better, and we can stop all this.”

“Stop all what?”

“You, defying me.” I kiss him quickly and his lips on mine immediately make me feel better.

“Nice car,” he says, as we approach the R8 in the underground garage.

“I know.” I flash him a quick grin, and I’m rewarded with another smile – before he rolls his eyes. I open the door for him, wondering if I should comment about the eye rolling.

“So what sort of car is this?” he asks, when I’m behind the wheel.

“It’s an Audi R8 Spyder. It’s a lovely day; we can take the top down. There’s a baseball cap in there. In fact, there should be two.”

I start the ignition and retract the roof, and the Boss fills the car. “Gotta love Bruce.”

I grin at Lou and steer the R8 out of her safe place in the garage.

Weaving in and out of the traffic on I-5, we head toward Portland. Louis is quiet, listening to the music and staring out the window. It’s difficult to see his expression, behind oversized Wayfarers and under my Mariners cap. The wind whistles over us as we speed past Boeing Field.

So far, this weekend has been unexpected. But what did I expect? I thought we’d have dinner, discuss the contract, and then what…? Perhaps fucking him was inevitable.

I glance across at him.

Yes…And I want to fuck him again.

I wish I knew what he was thinking. He gives little away, but I’ve learned some things about Louis. In spite of his inexperience, he’s willing to learn. Who would have thought that under that shy exterior he has the soul of the siren? An image of his lips around my dick comes to mind and I suppress a moan.

Yeah…he’s more than willing.

The thought is arousing.

I hope I can see him before next weekend.

Even now I’m itching to touch him again. Reaching across, I out my hand on his knee.

“Hungry?”

“Not particularly,” he responds, subdued.

This is getting old.

 “You must eat, Louis. I know a great place near Olympia. We’ll stop there.”

CUISINE SAUVAGE is small and crowded with couples and families enjoying Sunday brunch. With Lou’s hand in mine, we follow the hostess to our table. The last time I came here was with Nick. I wonder what he’d make of Louis.

“I’ve not been here for a while. We don’t get a choice – they cook whatever they’ve caught or gathered,” I say, grimacing, feigning my horror. Lou laughs.

_Why do I feel ten feet tall when I make him laugh?_

“Two glasses of the pinot grigio,” I order from the waitress, who’s making eyes at me from beneath blond bangs. It’s annoying.

Louis scowls.

“What?” I ask, wondering if the waitress is annoying him too.

“I wanted a Diet Coke.”

 _Why didn’t you say so_? I frown. “The pinot grigio here is a decent wine. It will go well with the meal, whatever we get.”

“Whatever we get?” he asks, his eyes round with alarm.

“Yes.” And I give him my megawatt smile to make amends for not letting his order his own drink. Im just not used to asking…” My mother liked you,” I add, hoping this will please him and remembering Anne’s reaction to Louis.

“Really?” he says, looking flattered.

“Oh yes. She’s always I thought I was straight.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s never seen me with a boy.”

“Oh, not even one of the fifteen?”

“You remembered. No, none of the fifteen.”

“Oh.”

 _Yes…only you, baby._ The thought is unsettling.

“You know, Louis, it’s been a weekend of firsts for me, too.”

“It has?”

“I’ve never slept with anyone, never had sex in my bed, never flown a boy in _Charlie Tango_ , never introduced a man to my mother. What are you doing to me?”

_Yeah. What the hell are you doing to me? This isn’t me._

The waitress brings us our chilled wine, and Lou immediately takes a quick sip, his bright eyes on me. “I’ve really enjoyed this weekend,” he says, with bashful delight in his voice. I have, too, and I realise I haven’t enjoyed a weekend for a while…since Stephen and I parted ways. I tell him so.

“What’s vanilla sex?” he asks.

I laugh at him unexpected question and complete the change of topic.

“Just straightforward sex, Louis. No toys, no add-ons.” I shrug. “You know – well, you don’t, but that’s what it means.”

“Oh,” he says, and he looks a little crestfallen.

_What now?_

The waitress diverts us, putting down two soup bowls full of greenery. “Nettle soup,” she announces, and struts back into the kitchen. We glance at each other, then back at the soup. A quick taste informs us both that it’s delicious. Lou giggles at my exaggerated expression of relief.

“That’s a lovely sound,” I say softly.

“Why have you never had vanilla sex before? Have you always done, what you’ve done?” He’s inquisitive as ever.

“Sort of.” And then I wonder if I should expand on this. More than anything, I want him to be forthcoming with me; I want him to trust me. I’m never this candid, but I think I can trust him, so I choose my words carefully.

“One of my mother’s friends seduced me when I was fifteen.”

“Oh.” Lou’s spoon pauses midway from the bowl to his mouth.

“He had very particular tastes. I was his submissive for six years.”

“Oh,” he breathes.

“So I do know what it involves, Louis.” _More than you know._ “I didn’t really have a run-of-the-mill introduction to sex.” I couldn’t be touched. I still can’t.

I wait for his reaction, but he continues with his soup, mulling over this tidbit of information. “So, you never dated anyone in college?” he asks, when he’s finished his last spoonful.

“No.”

The waitress interrupts us to clear our empty bowls. Lou wait for her to leave.

“Why?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t want to. He was all I wanted, needed. And besides, he’d have beaten the shit out of me.”

He blinks a couple of times as he absorbs this news. “So if he was a friend of your mother’s, how old was he?”

“Old enough to know better.”

“Do you still see him?” He sounds shocked.

“Yes.”

“Do you still…er – “He blushes crimson, his mouth turned down.

“No,” I say quickly. I don’t want him to have the wrong idea about my relationship with Nick. “He’s a very good friend,” I reassure him.

“Oh. Does your mother know?”

“Of course not.”

_My mother would kill me – and Nick, too._

The waitress returns with the main entrée: venison. Louis takes a ling sip of his wine. “But it can’t have been full-time?”

He’s ignoring his food.

“Well, it was, though I didn’t see him all the time. It was…difficult. After all, I was still at school and then at college. Eat up, Louis.”

“I’m really not hungry, Harry,” he says.

I narrow my eyes. “Eat.” I keep my voice low, as I try to check my temper.

“Give me a moment,” he says, his tone as quiet as mine.

_What’s his problem? Nick?_

“Okay,” I agree, wondering if I’ve told him too much, and I take a bite of my venison.

Finally, he picks up his cutlery and starts eating.

_Good._

“Is this what our, um…relationship will be like?” he asks. “You ordering me around?” He scrutinises the plate of food in front of him.

“Yes.”

“I see.” He flips his hair out of eyes.

“And what’s more, you’ll want me to.”

“It’s a big step,” he says.

“It is.” I close my eyes. I want to do this with him, now more than ever. What can I say to convince him to give our arrangement a try?

“Louis, you have to go with your gut. Do the research, read the contract. I’m happy to discuss any aspect. I’ll be in Portland until Friday if you want to talk about it before then. Call me – maybe we can have dinner – say, Wednesday? I really want to make this work. In fact, I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want this.”

_Whoa. Big speech, Styles. Did you just ask him on a date?_

“What happened to the fifteen?” he asks.

“Various things, but it boils down to incompatibility.”

“And do you think that I might be compatible with you?”

“Yes.”

_I hope so…_

“So you’re not seeing any of them anymore?”

“No, Louis, I’m not. I am monogamous in my relationships.”

“I see.”

“Do the research, Louis.”

He puts his knife and fork down, signalling he’s finished his meal.

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to eat?”

He nods, placing his hands in his lap, and his mouth sets in that mulish way he has…and I know it will be a fight to persuade him to clean his plate. No wonder he’s so slim. His eating issues will be something to work on, if he agrees to me mine. As I continue to eat, his eyes dart to me every few seconds and a slow flush stains his cheeks.

_Oh, what’s this?_

“I’d give anything to know what you’re thinking right at this moment.” He’s clearly thinking about sex. “I can guess,” I tease.

“I’m glad you can’t read my mind.”

“Your mind, no, Louis, but your body – _that_ I’ve gotten to know quite well since yesterday.” I give him a wolfish grin and ask for the check.

When we leave, his hand us firmly in mine. He’s quiet – deep in thought, it seems – and remains so all the way to Vancouver.

I’ve given him a great deal to think about.

But he’s also given me a great deal to think about.

_Will he want to do this with me?_

_Damn, I hope so._

It’s still light when we arrive at his home, but the sun is sinking to the horizon and shining pink and pearl light on Mount St. Helens. Lou and Zayn live in a scenic spot with an amazing view.

“Do you want to come in?” he asks, after I’ve switched off the engine.

“No. I have work to do.” I know that if I accept his invitation, I’ll be crossing a line I’m not prepared to cross. I’m not boyfriend material – and I don’t want to give him any false expectations of the kind of relationship he’ll have with me.

His face falls and, deflated, he looks away.

He doesn’t want me to go.

It’s humbling. Reaching across, I grasp his hand and kiss his knuckles, hoping to take the sting out of my rejection.

“Thank you for this weekend, Louis. It’s been…the best.” He turns shining eyes to me. “Wednesday,” he says, and the hope in his voice is disconcerting.

_Shit. It’s not a date._

I kiss his hand again and climb out of the car to open his door. I have to get out of here before I do something I’ll regret.

When he gets out of the car, he brightens, at odds with how he looked a moment ago. He marches up to his front door but before reaching the steps he turns suddenly. “Oh, by the way, I’m wearing your underwear,” he says in triumph, and he yanks the waistband up so I can see the words “Polo” and “Ralph” peaking out over his jeans.

He’s stolen my underwear!

I’m stunned. And in that instant, I want nothing more than to see him in my boxer briefs…and only them.

He tosses back his hair and swaggers into his apartment, leaving me standing on the curb, staring like a fool.

Shaking my head, I climb back into the car, and as I start the engine, I cannot help my shit-eating grin.

I hope he says yes.

I FINISH my work and take a sip of the fine Sancerre, delivered from room service by the woman with dark, dark eyes. Trawling through my e-mails and answering where required has been a welcome distraction from thoughts of Louis. And now I’m pleasantly tired. Is it the five hours of work? Or all the sexual activity last night and this morning? Memories of delectable Mr Tomlinson invade my mind: in Charlie Tango, in my bed, in my bath, dancing around my kitchen. And to think it all started here on Friday…and now he’s considering my proposal.

_Has he read the contract? Is he doing his homework?_

I check my phone once again for a text or a missed call but, of course, there’s nothing.

_Will he agree?_

I hope so…

Andrea has sent me Lou’s new e-mail address and assured me the laptop will be delivered tomorrow morning. What that in mind, I type out an e-mail.

 **From:** Harry Styles

 **Subject:** Your new computer

 **Date:** May 22, 2011 23:15

 **To** : Louis Tomlinson

Dear Mr. Tomlinson,

I trust you slept well. I hope that you put this laptop to good use, as discussed.

I look forward to dinner Wednesday.

Happy to answer any questions before then, via e-mail, should you so desire.

Harry Styles

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

The e-mail doesn’t bounce, so the address is live. I wonder how Louis will react in the morning when he reads it. I hope he likes the laptop. Guess I’ll know tomorrow. Picking up my latest read, I settle on the sofa. It’s a book by two renowned economists who examine why the poor think and behave the way they do. An image of a young woman brushing out her long, dark hair comes to mind; her hair shines in the light from the cracked, yellowed window, and the air is filled with dancing dust motes. She’s singing softly, like a child.

I shudder.

_Don’t go there, Styles._

I open the book and start to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love you all, thanks so much for reading xx


	8. In Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A second update to sweeten the deal of forgiveness ;)
> 
> Happy reading!!
> 
> Disclaimer: Not my story line, not my characters. I do not own this story, I do not own theses characters

** Monday, May 23, 2011 **

It’s after one in the morning when I go to bed. Staring at the ceiling, I’m tired, relaxed, but also excited, anticipating what the week will bring. I hope to have a new project: Mr. Louis Tomlinson.

MY feet pound the sidewalk on Main Street as I run toward the river. It’s 6:35 in the morning and the sun’s rays are shimmering through the high-rise buildings. The sidewalk trees are newly green with spring leaves; the air is clean, the traffic quiet. I’ve slept well. “O Fortuna” from Orff’s Carmina Burana is blaring in my ears. Today the streets are paved with possibility.

_Will he respond to my e-mail?_

It’s too early, far too early for any response, but feeling lighter than I have for weeks, I run past the statue of the elk and toward the Willamette.

BY 7:45 I’m in front of my laptop, having showered and ordered breakfast. I e-mail Andrea to let her know I’ll be working from Portland for the week and to ask her to reschedule any meetings so that they can take place by phone or videoconference. I e-mail Gail to let her know I won’t be home until Thursday evening at the earliest. Then I work through my inbox and find among other things a proposal for a joint venture with a shipyard in Taiwan. I forward it to Ros to add to the agenda of items we need to discuss.

Then I turn to my other outstanding matter: Nick. He’s texted me a couple of times over the weekend and I’ve not replied.

 **From:** Harry Styles

 **Subject:** The Weekend

 **Date:** May 23, 2011 08:15

 **To:** Nicholas Grimshaw

Good morning, Nick.

Sorry not to get back to you. I’ve been busy all weekend, and I’ll be in Portland all this week. I don’t know about next weekend, either, but if I’m free, I’ll let you know.

Latest results for the beauty business look promising.

Good going, Sir…

Best,

H

Harry Styles

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I press send, wondering again what Nick would make of Louis…and vice versa. There’s a ping from my laptop as a new e-mail arrives.

It’s from Louis.

 **From:** Louis Tomlinson

 **Subject:** Your New Computer (on loan)

 **Date:** May 23, 2011 08:20

 **To:** Harry Styles

I slept very well, thank you – for some strange reason – _Sir_.

I understood that this computer was on loan, ergo not mine.

Lou

“Sir” with a capital S; the boy has been reading, and possibly researching. And he’s still talking to me. I grin stupidly at the e-mail. This is good news. Though he is also telling me that he doesn’t want the computer.

Well, that’s frustrating.

I shake my head, amused.

 **From:** Harry Styles

 **Subject:** Your New Computer (on loan)

 **Date:** May 23, 2011 08:22

 **To:** Louis Tomlinson

The computer is on loan. Indefinitely, Mr Tomlinson.

I note from your tone that you have read the documentation I gave you.

Do you have any questions so far?

Harry Styles

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I hit send. How long will it be before he responds? I resume reading my e-mail as a distraction while I wait for his reply. There’s an executive summary from Fred, the head of my telecom division, about the development of our solar-powered tablet – one of my pet projects. It’s ambitious but few of my business ventures matter more than this one and I’m excited about it. Bringing affordable first world technology to the third world is something I’m determined to do.

There’s a ping from my computer.

Another e-mail from Mr Tomlinson.

From: Louis Tomlinson

Subject: Inquiring Minds

Date: 23 May, 2011 08:25

To: Harry Styles

I have many questions, but not suitable for e-mail, and some of us have to work for a living.

I do not want or need a computer indefinitely.

Until later, good day. Sir.

Lou

The tone of his e-mail makes me smile, but it seems he’s off to work, so this might be the last one for a while. His reluctance to accept the damned computer is annoying. But I suppose it shows he’s not acquisitive. He’s no gold digger – rare among the men I’ve known…yet Lyle was the same.

_“Sir, I am not deserving of this beautiful suit.”_

_“You are. Take it. And I’ll not hear another word on this. Understand?”_

_“Yes, Master.”_

_“Good. And the style will suit you.”_

_Ah, Lyle._ He was a good submissive, but he became too attached and I was the wrong man. Fortunately, that wasn’t for long. He’s married now and happy. I turn my attention back to Louis’ e-mail and reread.

_“Some of us have to work for a living.”_

The sassy wench is implying I don’t do any work.

_Well to hell with that!_

I spy Fred’s rather dry summary report open on my desktop and decide to set the record straight with Louis.

 **From** : Harry Styles

 **Subject:** Your New Computer (again on loan)

 **Date:** May 23, 2011 08:27

 **To:** Louis Tomlinson

Laters, baby.

P.S.: I work for a living, too,

Harry Styles

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I find it impossible to concentrate on my work, waiting for the tell-tale ping to announce a new e-mail from Louis. When it comes. I look up immediately – but it’s from Nick. And I’m surprised by my disappointment.

From: Nicholas Grimshaw

Subject: The Weekend

Date: May 23, 2011 08:33

To: Harry Styles

Harry, you work too hard. What’s in Portland? Work?

N x

NICHOLAS GRIMSHAW

ESCLAVA

_For the beauty that is you TM_

Do I tell him? If I do, he’ll call immediately with questions, and I’m not ready to divulge my weekend experiences yet. I type him a quick e-mail saying it’s work, and I’ve got to get back to my reading.

Andrea calls me at nine and we run through my schedule. As I’m in Portland, I ask her to set up a meeting with the president and the AVP of economic development at WSU, to discuss the soil science project we’ve set up and their need for additional funding in the next fiscal year. She agrees to cancel all my social engagements this week, and then connects me through to my first videoconference of the day.

AT 3:00 I’m poring over some tablet design schematics that Barney has sent me when I’m disturbed by a knock at my door. The interruption is annoying but for a moment I hope that it’s Mr Tomlinson. It’s Taylor.

“Hello.” I hope my voice doesn’t reveal my disappointment.

“I have your clothes, Mr. Styles,” he says politely.

“Come in. Can you hang them in the closet? I’m expecting my next conference call.”

“Certainly, sir.” He hurries into the bedroom, carrying a couple of suit bags and a duffel.

When he returns, I’m still waiting for my call.

“Taylor, I don’t think I’m going to need you for the next couple of days. Why don’t you take the time to see your daughter?”

“That’s very good of you, sir, but her mother and I – “He stops, embarrassed.

“Ah. Like that, is it?” I ask.

He nods. “Yes, sir. It will take some negotiating.”

“Okay. Would Wednesday be better?”

“I’ll ask. Thank you, sir.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“You do enough, sir.”

He doesn’t want to talk about this. “Okay. I think I’m going to need a printer – can you arrange it?”

“Yes, sir.” He nods. As he leaves, closing the door softly behind him, I frown. I hope his ex-wife isn’t giving him grief. I pay for his daughter’s schooling as another incentive for him to stay in my employment; he’s a good man, and I don’t want to lose him. The phone rings – it’s my conference call with Ros and Senator Blandino.

MY last call wraps up at 5:20. Stretching in my chair, I think about how productive I’ve been today. It’s amazing how much more I get done when I’m not in the office. Only a couple of reports to read and I’m finished for the day. As I look out the window at the early-evening sky, my mind strays to a certain potential submissive.

I wonder how his day at Clayton’s has been, pricing cable ties and measuring out lengths of rope. I hope one day I’ll get to use them on him. The thought conjures images of him tethered in my playroom. I dwell on this for a moment…then quickly send him an e-mail. All this waiting, working, and e-mailing is making me restless. I know how I’d like to release this pent-up energy, but I have to settle for a run.

 **From:** Harry Styles

 **Subject:** Working for a Living

 **Date:** May 23, 2011 17:24

 **To:** Louis Tomlinson

Dear Mr. Tomlinson,

I do hope you had a good day at work.

Harry Styles

CEO, Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I change back into my running gear. Taylor has brought me two more pairs of sweatpants. I’m sure that’s Gail’s doing. As I head toward the door, I check my e-mail. He’s replied.

 **From:** Louis Tomlinson

 **Subject:** Working for a Living

 **Date:** May 23, 2011 17:48

 **To:** Harry Styles

Sir…I had a very good day at work.

Thank you.

Lou

But he hasn’t done his homework. I e-mail him back.

 **From:** Harry Styles

 **Subject:** Do the Work!

 **Date:** May 23, 2011 17:50

 **To:** Louis Tomlinson

Mr. Tomlinson,

Delighted you had a good day.

While you are e-mailing, you are not researching.

Harry Styles,

CEO, Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

And rather than leave the room, I wait for his reply. He doesn’t keep me waiting long.

 **From:** Louis Tomlinson

 **Subject:** Nuisance

 **Date:** May 23, 2011 17:53

 **To:** Harry Styles

Mr. Styles stop e-mailing me, and I can start my assignment.

I’d like another A.

Lou

I laugh out loud. _Yes._ That A was something else. Closing my eyes, I see and feel his mouth around my cock once more.

_Fuck._

Bringing my errant body to heel, I press send on my reply, and wait.

 **From:** Harry Styles

 **Subject:** Impatient

 **Date:** May 23, 2011 17:55

 **To:** Louis Tomlinson

Mr. Tomlinson,

Stop e-mailing _me_ – and do your assignment.

I’d like to reward another A.

The first one was so well deserved. 😉

Harry Styles,

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

His response is not as immediate, and feeling a little crestfallen, I turn away and decide to go on my run. But as I open the door the ping from my inbox pulls me back.

 **From:** Louis Tomlinson

 **Subject:** Internet Research

 **Date:** May 23, 2011 17:59

 **To:** Harry Styles

Mr. Styles,

What do you suggest I put into the search engine?

Lou

 _Shit!_ Why didn’t I think about this? I could have given him some books. Numerous websites spring to mind – but I don’t want to frighten him off.

Perhaps he should start with the most vanilla…

 **From:** Harry Styles

 **Subject:** Internet Research

 **Date:** May 23, 2011 18:02

 **To:** Louis Tomlinson

Mr. Tomlinson,

Always start with Wikipedia.

No more e-mails unless you have questions.

Understood?

Harry Styles

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I get up from my desk, thinking he won’t respond, but as usual he surprises me and does. I can’t resist.

 **From:** Louis Tomlinson

 **Subject:** Bossy!

 **Date:** May 23, 2011 18:04

 **To:** Harry Styles

Yes… _Sir_.

You are so bossy.

Lou

_Damned right, baby._

**From:** Harry Styles

 **Subject:** In Control

 **Date:** May 23, 2011 18:06

 **To:** Louis Tomlinson

Louis, you have no idea.

Well, maybe an inkling now.

Do the work.

Harry Styles

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

 _Show some restraint, Styles._ Before he can distract me again, I’m out the door. With the Foo Fighters blaring in my ears I run to the river; I’ve seen the Willamette at dawn, now I want to see it at dusk. It’s a fine evening: couples are walking by the riverside, some sitting on the grass, and a few tourists are cycling up and down the concourse. I avoid them, the music blaring in my ears.

Mr Tomlinson has questions. He is still in the game – this is not a “no.” Our e-mail exchange has given me hope. As I run under Hawthorne Bridge, I reflect on how at ease he is with the written word, more so than when he’s speaking. Maybe this is his preferred medium of expression. Well, he has been studying English Literature. I’m hoping that by the time I get back there’ll be another e-mail, maybe with questions, maybe with some more of his sassy banter.

 _Yeah._ That’s something to look forward to.

As I sprint down Main Street, I dare to hope that he’ll accept my proposition. The thought is exciting, invigorating even, and I pick up my pace, sprinting back to The Heathman.

IT’S 8:15 when I sit back in my dining chair. I’ve eaten the wild Oregon salmon for dinner, courtesy of Miss Dark, Dark Eyes again, and I still have half a glass of Sancerre to finish. My laptop is open and powered up, should any important e-mails arrive. I pick up the report that I’ve printed out, on the brownfield sites in Detroit. “It would have to be Detroit,” I grumble out loud, and start to read.

A few minutes later, I hear a ping.

It’s an e-mail with “Shocked of WSUV” written in the subject line. The heading makes me sit up.

 **From:** Louis Tomlinson

 **Subject:** Shocked of WSUV

 **Date:** May 23, 2011 20:33

 **To:** Harry Styles

Okay, I’ve seen enough.

It was nice knowing you.

Lou

_Shit!_

I read it again.

_Fuck._

It’s a “no.” I stare at the screen in disbelief.

_That’s it?_

_No discussion?_

Nothing.

Just “It was nice knowing you”?

_What. The. Fuck._

I sit back in my chair, dumbfounded.

_Nice?_

_Nice._

_NICE._

He thought it was more than nice when his head was thrown back as he came.

_Don’t be so hasty, Styles,_

Maybe it’s a joke?

_Some joke!_

I pull my laptop toward me to write a reply.

 **From:** Harry Styles

 **Subject:** NICE?

 **Date:** May 23, 2011 20:35

 **To:** Louis Tomlinson

But as I stare at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keys, I can’t think of what to say.

How could he dismiss me so early?

His first fuck.

 _Get it together, Styles. What are your options?_ Maybe I should pay him a visit, just to make sure it’s a “no.” Maybe I can persuade him otherwise. I certainly don’t know what to say to this e-mail. Perhaps he’s looked at some particularly hardcore sites. Why didn’t I give him a few books? I don’t believe this. He needs to look me in the eye and say no.

 _Yep._ I rub my chin as I formulate a plan, and moments later I’m in my closet, retrieving my tie.

 _That_ tie.

This deal isn’t dead yet. From my messenger bag I take some condoms and slide them into my back pocket of my pants, then grab my jacket and a bottle of white wine from the minibar. Damn, it’s a chardonnay – but it will have to do. Snatching my room key, I close the door and head toward the elevator to collect my car from the valet.

AS I pull up in the R8 outside the apartment he shares with Malik, I wonder if this is a wise moved. I’ve never visited any of my previous submissive’s at their homes – they always came to me. I’m pushing all the boundaries that I’ve set for myself. Opening the door of the car and climbing out, I’m uneasy; it’s reckless and too presumptuous of me to come here. Then again, I’ve already been here twice, though for only a few minutes. If he does agree, I’ll have to manage his expectations.

_Getting ahead of yourself, Styles._

_You’re here because you think it’s a “no.”_

Malik answers when I knock at the door. He’s surprised to see me. “Hi, Harry. Lou didn’t say you were coming over.” He stands to the side and lets me enter. “He’s in his room. I’ll call him.”

“No. I’d like to surprise him.” I give him my most earnest and endearing look and in response he blinks a couple of times. _Whoa. That was easy. Who would have thought? How_ gratifying. “Where’s his room?”

“Through there, the first door.” He points to a door off the empty living room.

“Thanks.”

Leaving my jacket and the chilled wine on one of the packing crates, I open the door to find a small hallway with a couple of rooms off it. I assume one is a bathroom, so I knock on the other door. After a beat, I open it and there’s Louis, sitting at a small desk, reading what looks like the contract. He has his earbuds in as he idly drums his fingers to an unheard beat. Standing there for a moment, I watch him. His face is scrunched in concentration; his hair is pushed back by a headband and he’s wearing sweatpants. Perhaps he’s been for a run this evening…perhaps he’s suffering from excess energy, too. The thought is pleasing. His room is small, neat, and boyish: all whites, creams, and baby blues, and bathes in the soft glow of his bedside lamp. It’s also a little empty, but I spy a closed packing crate with Lou’s room scrawled on the top. At least he has a double bed – with a wrought-iron bedstead. _Yes._ That has possibilities.

Louis suddenly jumps, startled by my presence.

_Yes. I’m here because of your e-mail._

He pulls out his earbuds and the sound of tinny music fills the silence between us.

“Good evening, Louis.”

He stares at me dumbfounded, his eyes widening.

“I felt that your e-mail warranted a reply in person.” I try to keep my voice neutral. His mouth opens and closes, but he remains mute.

Mr Tomlinson is speechless. This I like.

“May I sit?”

He nods, continuing to stare in disbelief as I perch on his bed.

“I wondered what your bedroom would look like,” I offer as an icebreaker, though chitchat is not my area of expertise. He scans the room as if seeing it for the first time. “It’s very serene and peaceful in here,” I add, though I feel anything but serene and peaceful right now. I want to know why he’s said no to my proposal with no discussion whatsoever.

“How…?” he whispers, but he stops, his disbelief still evident in his quiet tone.

“I’m still at The Heathman.” He knows this.

“Would you like a drink?” he squeaks.

“No thank you, Louis.” _Good._ He’s found his manners. But I want to get on with the business at hand: his alarming e-mail. “So, it was _nice_ knowing me?” I emphasize the word that offends me most in that sentence.

_Nice? Really?_

He examines his hands in his lap, his fingers nervously tapping against his thighs.

“I thought you’d reply by e-mail,” he says, his voice as small as his room.

“Are you biting your lower lip deliberately?” I inquire, my voice sterner than I’d intended.

“I wasn’t aware I was biting my lip,” he whispers, his face pale.

We gaze at each other.

And the air almost crackles between us.

_Fuck._

_Can’t you feel this, Lou?_ This tension. This attraction. My breathing shallows as I watch his pupils dilate. Slowly, deliberately, I reach for his hair and gently tug on the ends. Taking off his headband and releasing his hair. He watches me, captivated, his eyes never leaving mine.

“So, you decided on some exercise?” My fingers trace the soft shell of his ear. With great care, I tug and squeeze the plump skin of his earlobe. He’s not wearing earrings, though he does have pierced ears. I like it. And I idly wonder what a diamond would look like twinkling there.

I ask him why he’s been exercising, keeping my voice low. His breathing quickens.

“I needed time to think,” he says.

“Think about what, Louis?”

“You.”

“And you decided that it was nice knowing me? Do you mean knowing me in the biblical sense?”

His cheeks pink. “I didn’t think you were familiar with the Bible.”

“I went to Sunday school, Louis. It taught me a great deal.”

_Catechism. Guilt. And that God above abandoned me long ago._

“I don’t remember reading about nipple clamps in the Bible. Perhaps you were taught from a modern translation,” he goads me, his eyes shining and provocative.

_Oh, that smart mouth._

“Well, I thought I should come and remind you how nice it was knowing me.” The challenge is there in my voice, and now between us. His mouth drops open in surprise, but I gluide my fngers to his chin and coax it closed. “What do you say to that, Mr Tomlinson?” I whisper, as we stare at each other.

Suddenly he launches himself at me.

_Shit._

Somehow, I grab his arms before he can touch me, and twist so that he lands on the bed, beneath me, and I have his arms stretched out above his head. Turning his face to mine, I kiss him, hard, my tongue exploring and reclaiming him. His body rises in response as he kisses me back with equal ardour.

_Oh, Lou. What you do to me._

Once he’s squirming for more, I stop and gaze down at him. It’s time for plan B.

“Trust me?” I ask, when his eyelids flutter open.

He nods enthusiastically. From the back pocket of my pants I extract the ties so he can see it, then astride him and, taking both of his offered wrists, bind him to one of the iron spindles of his bedstead.

He wriggles beneath me, testing his bindings, but the tie holds fast. He’s not escaping. “That’s better.” I smile with relief because I have him where I want him. Now to undress him.

Grabbing his right foot, I start to undo his sneakers.

“No,” he grumbles with embarrassment, trying to withdraw his foot, and I know it’s because he’s been running and doesn’t want me to remove his shoes. Does he think perspiration would put me off?

_Sweetheart!_

“If you struggle, I’ll tie your feet, too. If you make a noise, Louis, I will gag you. Keep quiet. Zayn is probably outside listening right now.”

He stops. And I know that my instincts are right. He’s worried about his feet. When will he understand that none of that bothers me?

Quickly I remove his shoes, socks, and sweatpants. Then shift him so he’s stretched out and lying on his sheets, and not that dainty, homemade quilt. We’re going to make a mess.

_Stop biting that fucking lip._

I brush my finger over his mouth as a carnal warning. He pursues his lips in the semblance of a kiss, prompting my smile.

He’s a beautiful, sensual creature.

Now that he’s where I want him, I take my shoes and socks off, undo the top button of my pants, and remove my shirt. He doesn’t take his eyes off me.

“I think you’ve seen too much.” I want to keep him guessing, and not knowing what’s coming next. It will be a carnal treat. I’ve not blindfolded him before, so this will count toward his training. That’s if he says yes…

Sitting astride him once more, I grab the hem of his T-shirt and roll it up his body. But rather than taking it off, I leave it rolled over his eyes: and affective blindfold.

He looks fantastic, laid out and bound. “Mmm, this just gets better and better. I’m going to get a drink,” I whisper, and kiss him. He gasps as I climb off the bed. Outside his room, I leave his door slightly ajar and enter the living room to retrieve the bottle of wine.

Malik looks up from where he’s sitting on the sofa, reading, and his eyebrows raise in surprise _. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a shirtless man, Malik, because I won’t believe you._ “Zayn, where would I find glasses, ice, and a corkscrew?” I ask, ignoring his scandalised expression.

“Um. In the kitchen. I’ll get them for you. Where’s Lou?”

_Ah, some concern for his friend. Good._

“He’s a little tied up at the moment, but he want’s a drink.” I grab the bottle of chardonnay.

“Oh, I see,” Malik says, and I follow him into the kitchen, where he points to some glasses on the counter. All the glasses are out, I assume to be packed for their move. He hands me a corkscrew and from the fridge he removes a tray of ice and breaks out the ice cubes.

“We still have to pack in here. You know Liam is helping us move.” His tone is critical.

“Is he?” I sound uninterested as I open the wine. “Just put the ice in the glasses.” With my chin I indicate two glasses. “It’s a chardonnay. It’ll be more drinkable with the ice.”

“I figured you for a red wine kind of guy,” he says, when I pour the wine. “Are you going to come and help Louis with the move?” His eyes flash. He’s challenging me.

_Shut him down, Styles._

“No. I can’t.” My voice is clipped, because he’s pissing me off, trying to make me feel guilty. His lips thin, and I turn around to leave the kitchen, but not before I catch the disapproval in his face.

_Fuck off, Malik._

No way am I going to help. Louis and I don’t have that kind of relationship. Besides, I can’t spare the time.

I return to Louis’ room and shut the door behind me, blotting out Malik and his disdain. Immediately I’m appeased by the sight of the enchanting Mr Tomlinson, breathless and waiting, on his bed. Setting the wine down on his bedside table, I take the foil packet out of my pants and place it beside the wine, then drop my pants and underwear on the floor, freeing my erection.

I take a sip of wine – surprisingly, it’s not bad – and gaze down at Louis. He hasn’t said a word. His face is turned toward me, his lips parted with anticipation. Taking the glass, I sit astride him once more. “Are you thirsty, Louis?”

“Yes,” he whispers.

Taking a sip of wine, I lean down and kiss him, pouring the wine into his mouth. He laps it up, and deep in his throat I hear a faint hum of appreciation.

“More?” I ask.

He nods, smiling, and I oblige.

“Let’s not go too far; we know your capacity for alcohol is limited, Louis,” I tease, and his mouth splits in the widest of grins. Leaning down, I let him have another drink from my mouth, and he wriggles beneath me.

“Is this _nice_?” I ask, as I lay down beside him.

He stills, all seriousness now, but his lips part as he inhales sharply.

I take another swig if wine, this time with two ice cubes. When I kiss him, I push a small shard of ice between his lips, then lay a trail of kissed down his sweet-smelling skin from his throat to his navel. There, I place the other shard, and a little wine.

He sucks in a breath.

“Now you have to keep still. If you move, Louis, you’ll get wine all over the bed.” My voice is low, and I kiss him again just above his navel. His hips shift. “Oh no. If you spill the wine, I will punish you, Mr Tomlinson.”

He moans in response and pulls at the tie.

_All good things, Louis…_

His nipples are pert and vulnerable, just how I like them. Slowly I tease them both with my lips.

“How _nice_ is this?” I whisper and blow gently on one nipple. His mouth slackens in a silent “Ah.” Taking another piece of ice in my mouth, I slowly trace down his sternum to his nipple, circling a couple of times with the ice. He moans beneath me. Transferring the ice to my fingers, I continue to torture each nipple with cool lips and the remaining ice cube that’s melting in my fingers.

Whining and panting beneath me, he’s tensing but managing to stay still. “If you spill the wine, I won’t let you come.” I warn.

“Oh. Please. Harry. Sir. Please,” he begs.

_Oh, to hear him use those words._

_There’s hope._

_This is not a “no.”_

I skim my fingers over his body toward his boxers, teasing his soft skin. Suddenly his pelvis flexes, spilling the wine and the now-melted ice from his navel. I move quickly to lap it up, kissing and sucking it off his body.

“Oh dear, Louis, you moved. What am I going to do to you?” I slip my fingers into his tight boxers and brush the tip of his hardening cock as I do.

“Ah!” he whines.

“Oh, baby,” I whisper with reverence.

_See. See how nice this is?_

I push my index and middle finger inside him, and he trembles.

“Ready for me so soon,” I murmur, and push my fingers slowly in and out of him, eliciting a sweet moan. His pelvis starts lifting to meet my fingers.

_Oh, he wants this._

“You are a greedy boy.” My voice is still low, and he matches the pace I’m setting as I begin to move my fingers fast inside of him, teasing and tormenting him.

He cries out, his body bucking beneath me. I want to see his expression, and reaching up with my other hand, I slip his T-shirt off his head. He opens his eyes, blinking in the soft light.

“I want to touch you,” he says, his voice husky and full of need.

“I know,” I breathe against his lips, and kiss him, all the while keeping up the relentless rhythm with my fingers and thumb. He tastes of wine and need and Louis. And he kisses me back with a hunger I’ve not felt in him before. I cradle the top of his head, keeping him in place, and continue to kiss and finger-fuck him. As his legs stiffen, I drop the pace of my hand.

_Oh, no, baby. You’re not coming yet._

I do this three more times while kissing his warm, sweet mouth. The fifth time I still my fingers inside him, and I hum soft and slow in his ear, “This is your punishment, so close and yet so far. Is this _nice_?”

“Please,” he whimpers.

_God, I love to hear him beg._

“How shall I fuck you, Louis?”

My fingers start again, and his legs begin to quiver, and I gentle my hand once more.

“Please,” he breathes again, the word so low I barely hear him.

“What do you want, Louis?”

“You…now,” he pleads.

“Shall I fuck you this way, or this way, or this way? There’s an endless choice,” I murmur. Withdrawing my hand, I snatch the condom from the bedside table and kneel up between his legs. Keeping my eyes on his, I pull his boxers off and discard them on the floor. His eyes dark, full of promise and longing. They widen as I slowly put the condom on.

“How _nice_ is this?” I ask, as I wrap my fist around my erection.

“I meant it as a joke,” he whimpers.

_Joke?_

_Thank. The. Lord._

All is not lost.

“A joke?” I query, as my fist slides up and down my cock.

“Yes. Please, Harry,” he begs.

“Are you laughing now?”

“No.” His voice is barely audible, but the little shake of his head tells me all I need to know.

Watching him needing me…I could explode in my hand just looking at him. Grabbing him, I flip him over, keeping his fine, fine ass in the air. It’s too tempting. I slap his cheek, hard, then plunge deep inside him.

 _Oh, fuck._ He’s so ready.

He tightens around me and cries out as he comes.

_Fuck. That’s too quick._

Holding his hips in place, I fuck him, hard, riding through his orgasm. Gritting my teeth, I grind into him, again and again, as he begins to build once more.

 _Come on, Lou. Again,_ I will him, pounding on.

He moans and whimpers beneath me, a sheen of sweat appearing on his back.

His legs begin to quiver.

He’s close.

“Come on, Louis, again,” I growl, and by some miracle his orgasm spirals through his body and into mine. _Thank fuck._ Wordlessly I come, pouring myself into him.

 _Sweet Lord._ I collapse on top of him. That was exhausting.

“How _nice_ was that?” I hiss against his ear as I draw air into my lungs.

As he lies flat on the bed, panting, I pull out of him and removed the wretched condom. I get off the bed and quickly get dressed. When I’m done, I reach down and unfasten my tie, freeing him. Turning over, he stretches his hands and fingers and readjusts his hair. Once I cover him with the comforter, I lie down beside him, propped up on my elbow.

“That was really nice,” he says with a mischievous smile.

“There’s that word again.” I smirk at him.

“You don’t like that word?”

“No. It doesn’t do it for me at all.”

“Oh – I don’t know…it seems to have a very beneficial effect on you.”

“I’m beneficial effect now, am I? Could you wound my ego any further, Mr Tomlinson?”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with your ego.” His frown is fleeting.

“You think?”

Dr. Flynn would have plenty to say about that.

“Why don’t you like to be touched?” he asks, his voice sweet and soft.

“I just don’t.” I kiss his forehead to distract him from this line of questioning. “So, that e-mail was your idea of a joke?”

He gives me a coy look and an apologetic shrug.

“I see. So, you are still considering my proposition?”

“Your indecent proposal …yes, I am.”

_Well, thank fuck for that._

Our deal is still in play. My relief is palpable; I can almost taste it.

“I have issues, though,” he adds.

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

“I was going to e-mail them to you, but you kind of interrupted me.”

“Coitus interruptus.”

“See? I knew you had a sense of humour somewhere in there.” The light in his eye’s dances with mirth.

“Only certain things are funny, Louis. I thought you were saying no – no discussion at all.”

“I don’t know yet. I haven’t made up my mind. Will you collar me?”

His question surprises me. “You have been doing your research. I don’t know, Louis. I’ve never collared anyone.”

“Were you collared?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“By Mrs. Robinson?”

“Mrs. Robinson?” I laugh out loud. Anne Bancroft in _The Graduate_. “I’ll tell him you said that; he’ll love it.”

“You still talk to him regularly?” His voice is high-pitched with shock and indignation.

“Yes.” Why’s that such a big deal?

“I see.” Now his voice is clipped. He’s mad? Why? I don’t understand. “So, you have someone you can discuss your alternative lifestyle with, but I’m not allowed.” His tone is petulant, but once again he’s calling me out on my shit.

“I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it like that. Mrs. Robinson is part of that lifestyle. I told you, he’s a good friend now. If you’d like, I can introduce you to one of my former subs. You could talk to him.”

“Is this _your_ idea of a joke?” he demands.

“No, Louis.” I’m surprised by his vehemence and shake my head to reinforce my denial. It’s perfectly normal for a submissive to check with exes that their new Dominant knows what he’s doing.

“No – I’ll do this on my own, thank you very much,” he insists, and reaches for his comforter and quilt, pulling them up to his chin.

_What? He’s upset?_

“Louis, I…I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended. I’m appalled.”

“I don’t want to talk to one of your ex-boyfriends, slave, sub, whatever you call them.”

_Oh._

“Louis Tomlinson, are you jealous?” I sound bewildered…because I am. He flushes beet red, and I know I’ve found the root of the problem. How the hell can he be jealous?

_Sweetheart, I had a life before you._

A very active life.

“Are you staying?” he snaps.

 _What? Of course not._ “I have a breakfast meeting tomorrow at The Heathman. Besides, I told you, I don’t sleep with boyfriends, slaves, subs, or anyone. Friday and Saturday were exceptions. It won’t happen again.”

He presses his lips together with his stubborn expression. “Well, I’m tired now,” he says.

_Fuck._

“Are you kicking me out?”

_This is not how this is supposed to go._

“Yes.”

_What the hell?_

Disarmed again, by Mr Tomlinson. “Well, that’s another first,” I mutter.

_Kicked out. I can’t believe it._

“So, nothing you want to discuss now? About the contract?” I ask, as an excuse to prolong my stay.

“No,” he grunts. His petulance is irritating, and were he truly mine, it would not be tolerated.

“God, I’d like to give you a good hiding. You’d feel a lot better, and so would I,” I tell him.

“You can’t say things like that. I haven’t signed anything yet.” His eyes flash with defiance.

 _Oh, baby, I can say it. I just can’t do it._ Not until you let me. “A man can dream, Louis. Wednesday?” I still want this. Why, though. I don’t know; he’s so difficult.

I give him a brief kiss.

“Wednesday,” he agrees, and I’m relieved once again. “I’ll see you out,” he adds, his tone softer. “If you give me a minute,” He pushes me off the bed and pulls on his T-shirt. “Please pass me my sweatpants,” he orders, pointing to them.

 _Wow_. Mr Tomlinson can be a bossy little thing.

“Yes, sir,” I quip, knowing that he won’t get the reference. But he narrows his eyes. He knows I’m making fun of him, but he says nothing as he slips his pants on.

Feeling a little bemused at the prospect of being tossed out onto the street, I follow him through the living room to the front door.

_When was the last time this happened?_

_Never._

He opens the door, but he’s staring down at his hands.

_What is going on here?_

“You okay?” I ask and brush his lower lip with my thumb. Perhaps he doesn’t want me to go – or perhaps he can’t wait for me to leave?

“Yes,” he says, his tine soft and subdued. I’m not sure I believe him.

“Wednesday,” I remind him. I’ll see him then. Bending down, I kiss him, and he closes his eyes. And I don’t want to go. Not with his uncertainty on my mind. I hold his head and deepen the kiss and he responds, surrendering his mouth on me.

_Oh, baby, don’t give up on me. Give it a try._

He grasps my arms, kissing me back, and I don’t want to stop. He’s intoxicating and the darkness is quiet, calmed by the young man in front of me. Reluctantly, I pull back and lean my forehead against his.

He’s breathless, like me. “Louis, what are you doing to me?”

“I could say the same to you,” he whispers.

I know I have to leave. He has me in a tailspin, and I don’t know why. I kiss his forehead and walk down the path toward the R8. He stands watching me from the doorway. He hasn’t gone in. I smile, pleased that he’s still watching as I climb into the car.

When I look back, he’s gone.

_Shit. What just happened? No wave good-bye?_

I start the car and begin the drive back to Portland, analysing what’s taken place between us.

He e-mailed me.

I went to him.

We fucked.

He threw me out before I was ready to leave.

For the first time – well, maybe not the first time – I feel a little used, for sex. It’s a disturbing feeling that reminds me of my time with Nick.

 _Hell!_ Mr Tomlinson is topping from the bottom, and he doesn’t even know it. And fool that I am, I’m letting him.

I have to turn this around. This soft-sell approach is messing with my head.

But I want him. I need him to sign.

Is it just the chase? Is that what’s turning me on? Or is it him?

 _Fuck_ , I don’t know. But I hope to find out more on Wednesday. And on a positive note, that was one hell of a nice wat to spend an evening. I smirk in the rear-view mirror and pull into the garage at the hotel.

 _Focus on what you want, where you want to be_. Isn’t that what Flynn is always harassing me about, his solution-based shit?

 **From:** Harry Styles

 **Subject:** This Evening

 **Date:** May 23, 2011 23:16

 **To:** Louis Tomlinson

Mr. Tomlinson,

I look forward to receiving your notes on the contract.

Until then, sleep well, baby.

Harry Styles

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

And I want to add, _thank you for another diverting evening_ …but that seems a little over the top. Pushing my laptop aside because Louis will probably be asleep, I pick up the Detroit report and continue reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> L L Love you all x


	9. What about my issues?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of this chapter is "The Contract" - bit boring but necessary 
> 
> Hope you like :)
> 
> Disclaimer: Not my story line, not my characters

** Tuesday, May 24, 2011 **

The thought of siting the electronics plant in Detroit is depressing. I loathe Detroit; it holds nothing but bad memories for me. Memories I do my damnedest to forget. They surface, mainly at night, to remind me of what I am and where I came from.

But Michigan is offering excellent tax incentives. It’s hard to ignore what they are proposing in this report. I toss it on the dining table and take a sip of my Sancerre. Shit. It’s warm. It’s late. I should sleep. As I stand and stretch, there’s a ping on my computer. An e-mail. It might be from Ros, so I have a quick look.

It’s from Louis. Why is he still awake?

 **From:** Louis Tomlinson

 **Subject:** Issues

 **Date:** May 24, 2011 00:02

 **To:** Harry Styles

Dear Mr. Styles,

Here is my list of issues. I look forward to discussing them more fully at dinner on Wednesday.

The numbers refer to clauses:

 _He’s referring to the clauses?_ Mr Tomlinson has been thorough. I pull a copy up on screen for my reference.

**CONTRACT**

Made this day ____ of 2011 (“The Commencement Date”)

**BETWEEN**

  1. HARRY STYLES of 301 Escala, Seattle, WA 98889



(“The Dominant”)

  1. LOUIS TOMLINSON of 1114 SW Green Street, Apartment 7, Haven Heights, Vancouver, WA 98888



(“The Submissive”)

**THE PARTIES AGREE AS FOLLOWS**

  1. The following are the terms of a binding contract between the Dominant and the Submissive.



**FUNDAMENTAL TERMS**

  1. The fundamental purpose of this contract is to allow the Submissive to explore his sensuality and his limits safely, with due respect and regard for his needs, his limits, and his well-being.
  2. The Dominant and the Submissive agree and acknowledge that all that occurs under the terms of this contract will be consensual, confidential, and subject to the agreed limits and safety procedures set out in this contract. Additional limits and safety procedures may be agreed in writing.
  3. The Dominant and the Submissive each warrant that they suffer from no sexual, serious, infectious, or life-threatening illnesses, including but not limited to HIV, herpes, and hepatitis. If during the Term (as defined below) or any extended term of this contract either party should be diagnosed with or become aware of any such illness, he or she undertakes to inform the other immediately and in any event prior to nay form of physical contact between the parties.
  4. Adherence to the above warranties, agreements, and undertakings (and any additional limits and safety procedures under clause 3 above) are fundamental to this contract. Any breach shall render it void with immediate effect and each party agrees to be fully responsible to the other for the consequence of any breach.
  5. Everything in this contract must be read and interpreted in the light of the fundamental purpose and the fundamental terms set out in clauses 2-5 above,



**ROLES**

  1. The Dominant shall take responsibility for the well-being and the proper training, guidance, and discipline of the Submissive. He shall decide the nature of the Submissive. He shall decide the nature of such training, guidance, and discipline and the time and place of its administration, subject to the agreed terms, limitations, and safety procedures set out in this contract or agreed additionally under clause 3 above.
  2. If at any time the Dominant should fail to keep to the agreed terms, limitations, and safety procedures set out in this contract or agreed additionally under clause 3 above, the Submissive is entitled to terminate this contract forthwith and to leave the service of the Dominant without notice.
  3. Subject to that proviso and to clause 2-5 above, the Submissive is to serve and obey the Dominant in all things. Subject to the agreed terms, limitations, and safety procedures set out in this contract or agreed additionally under clause 3 above, he shall without query or hesitation offer the Dominant such pleasure as he may require and he shall accept without query or hesitation his training, guidance, and discipline in whatever form it may take.



**COMMENCEMENT AND TERM**

  1. The Dominant and Submissive enter into this contract on the Commencement Date fully aware of its nature and undertake to abide by its conditions without exception.
  2. This contract shall be effective for a period of three calendar months from the Commencement Date (“The Term”). On the expiry of The Term the parties shall discuss whether this contract and the arrangements they have made under this contract are satisfactory and whether the needs of each party have been met. Either party may propose the extension of this contract subject to adjustments to its terms or to the arrangements they have made under it. In the absence of agreement to such extension this contract shall terminate and both parties shall be free to resume their lives separately.



**AVAILABILITY**

  1. The Submissive will make himself available the Dominant from Friday evening through to Sunday afternoons each week during The Term at time to be specified by the Dominant (“The Allotted Times”). Further allocated time can be mutually agreed to on an ad hoc basis.
  2. The Dominant reserves the right to dismiss the Submissive from his service at any time and for any reason. The Submissive may request his release at any time, such request to be granted at the discretion of the Dominant subject only to the Submissive’s rights under clause 2-5 and 8 above.



**LOCATION**

  1. The Submissive will make himself available during the Allotted Times and agreed additional times at locations to be determined by the Dominant. The Dominant will ensure that all travel costs incurred by the Submissive for that purpose are met by the Dominant.



**SERVICE PROVISIONS**

  1. The following service provisions have been discussed and agreed and will be adhered to by both parties during The Term. Both parties accept that certain matters may arise that are not covered by the terms of this contract or the service provisions, or that certain matters may be renegotiated. In such circumstances, further clauses may be proposed by way of amendment. Any further clauses or amendments must be agreed, documented, and signed by both parties and shall be subject to the fundamental terms set out under clauses 2-5 above.



**DOMINANT**

15.1 The Dominant shall make the Submissive’s health and safety priority at all times. The Dominant shall not at any time require, request, allow, or demand the Submissive to participate at the hands of the Dominant in the activities detailed in Appendix 2 or on any act that either party deems to be unsafe. The Dominant will not undertake or permit to be undertaken any action which could cause serious injury or any risk to the Submissive’s life. The remaining subclauses of this clause 15 are to be read subject to the proviso and to the fundamental matters agreed in clauses 2-5 above.

15.2 The Dominant accepts the Submissive as his, to own, control, dominate, and discipline during The Term. The Dominant may use the Submissive’s body at any time during the Allotted Times or any agreed additional times in any manner he deems fit, sexually or otherwise.

15.3 The Dominant shall provide the Submissive with all necessary training and guidance in how to properly serve the Dominant.

15.4 The Dominant shall maintain a stable and safe environment in which the Submissive may perform his duties in service of the Dominant.

15.5 The Dominant may discipline the Submissive as necessary to ensure the Submissive fully appreciates his role of subservience to the Dominant and to discourage unacceptable conduct. The Dominant may flog, spank, whip, or corporally punish the Submissive as he sees fit, for purposes of discipline, for his own personal enjoyment, or for any other reason, which he is not obliged to provide.

15.6 In training and in the administration of discipline the Dominant shall ensure that no permanent marks are made upon the Submissive’s body nor any injuries incurred that may require medical attention.

15.7 In training and in the administration of discipline the Dominant shall ensure that the discipline and the instruments used for the purposes of discipline are safe, shall not be used in such a way as to cause serious harm, and shall not in any way exceed the limits defined and detailed in this contract.

15.8 In case of illness or injury the Dominant shall care for the Submissive, seeing to his health and safety, encouraging and, when necessary, ordering medical attention when necessary in order to maintain a risk-free environment.

15.10 The Dominant shall not loan his Submissive to another Dominant.

15.11 The Dominant may restrain, handcuff, or bind the Submissive at any time during the Allotted Times or any agreed additional times for any reason and for extended periods of time, giving due regard to the health and safety of the Submissive.

15.12 The Dominant will ensure that all equipment used for the purposes of training and discipline shall be maintained in a clean, hygienic, and safe state at all times.

**SUBMISSIVE**

15.13 The Submissive accepts the Dominant as his master, with the understanding that he is now the property of the Dominant, to be dealt with as the Dominant pleases during the Term generally but specifically during the Allotted Times and any additional agreed allotted times.

15.14 The Submissive shall obey the rules (“The Rules”) set out in Appendix 1 to this agreement.

15.15 The Submissive shall serve the Dominant in any way the Dominant sees fit and shall endeavour to please the Dominant at all times to the best of his ability.

15.16 The Submissive shall take all measures necessary to maintain his good health and shall request or seek medical attention whenever it is needed, keeping the Dominant informed at all times of any health issues that may arise.

15.17 The Submissive will ensure that he procures oral contraception and ensure that he takes it as and when prescribed to prevent any pregnancy.

15.18 The Submissive shall accept without question any and all disciplinary actions deemed necessary by the Dominant and remember his status and role in regard to the Dominant at all times.

15.19 The Submissive shall not touch or pleasure himself sexually without permission from the Dominant.

15.20 The Submissive shall submit to any sexual activity demanded by the Dominant and shall do so without hesitation or argument.

15.21 The Submissive shall accept whippings, floggings, spankings, canings, paddling’s, or any other discipline the Dominant should decide to administer, without hesitation, inquiry, or complaint.

15.22 The Submissive shall not look directly into the eyes of the Dominant except when specifically instructed to do so. The Submissive shall keep his eyes cast down and maintain a quiet and respectful bearing in the presence of the Dominant.

15.23 The Submissive shall always conduct himself in a respectful manner to the Dominant and shall address him only as Sir, Mr. Styles, or such other title as the Dominant may direct.

15.24 The Submissive will not touch the Dominant without his express permission to do so.

**ACTIVITES**

  1. The Submissive shall not participate in activities or any sexual acts that either party deems to be unsafe or any activities in Appendix 2.
  2. The Dominant and the Submissive have discussed the activities set out in Appendix 3 and recorded in writing on Appendix 3 their agreements in respect of them.



**SAFE WORDS**

  1. The Dominant and the Submissive recognise that the Dominant may make demands of the Submissive that cannot be met without incurring physical, mental, emotional, spiritual, or other harm at the time the demands are made to the Submissive. In such circumstances related to this, the Submissive may make use of a safe word (“The Safe Word*s”). Two Safe Words will be invoked depending on the demands.
  2. The Safe Word “Yellow” will be used to bring to the attention of the Dominant that the Submissive is close to his limit of endurance.
  3. The Safe Word “Red” will be used to bring to the attention of the Dominant that the Submissive cannot tolerate any further demands. When this word is said, the Dominant’s action will cease completely with immediate effect.



**CONCLUSION**

  1. We the undersigned have read and understood fully the provisions of this contract. We freely accept the terms of this contract and have acknowledged this by our signatures below.



 

______________________________

**The Dominant: Harry Styles**

 

**Date**

______________________________

**The Submissive: Louis Tomlinson**

**Date**

**APPENDIX 1**

**RULES**

_ Obedience: _

The Submissive will obey any instructions given by the Dominant immediately without hesitation or reservation manner. The Submissive will agree to any sexual activity deemed fit and pleasurable by the Dominant excepting those activities that are outlined in hard limits (Appendix 2). He will do so eagerly and without hesitation.

_ Sleep: _

The Submissive will ensure he achieves a minimum of eight hours’ sleep a night when he is not with the Dominant.

_ Food: _

The Submissive will eat regularly to maintain his health and well-being from a prescribed list of foods (Appendix 4). The Submissive will not snack between meals, with the exception of fruit.

_ Clothes: _

During the Term the Submissive will wear clothing only approved by the Dominant. The Dominant will provide a clothing budget for the Submissive, which the Submissive shall utilize. The Dominant shall accompany the Submissive to purchase clothing on an ad hoc basis. If the Dominant so requires, the Submissive shall, during the Term, wear adornments the Dominant shall require, in the presence of the Dominant and at any other time the Dominant sees fit.

_ Exercise: _

The Dominant shall provide the Submissive with a personal trainer four times a week in hour-long sessions at times to be mutually agreed between the personal trainer and the Submissive. The personal trainer will report to the Dominant on the Submissive’s progress.

_ Personal Hygiene/Beauty: _

The Submissive will keep himself clean and shaved and/or waxed at all times. The Submissive will visit a beauty salon of then Dominant’s choosing at times to be decided by the Dominant and undergo whatever treatments the Dominant sees fit. All costs will be met by the Dominant.

_ Personal Safety: _

The Submissive will not drink to excess, smoke, take recreational drugs, or put himself in any unnecessary danger.

_ Personal Qualities: _

The Submissive will not enter into any sexual relations with anyone other than the Dominant. The Submissive will conduct himself in a respectful and modest manner at all times. He must recognise that his behaviour is a direct reflection on the Dominant. He shall be held accountable for any misdeeds, wrongdoings, and misbehaviour committed when not in the presence of the Dominant.

 

**Failure to comply with any of the above will result in immediate punishment, the nature of which shall be determined by the Dominant.**

 

**APPENDIX 2**

Hard Limits

No acts involving fire play.

No acts involving urination of defecation and the products thereof.

No acts involving needles, knives, cutting, piercing, or blood.

No acts involving gynaecological medical instruments.

No acts involving children or animals.

No acts that leave any permanent marks on the skin.

No acts involving breath control.

No activity that involves the direct contact of electric current (whether alternating or direct), fire, or flames to the body.

 

**APPENDIX 3**

Soft Limits

To be discussed and agreed between both parties:

Does the Submissive consent to:

 

  * Masturbation
  * Cunnilingues
  * Fellatio
  * Swallowing Semen
  * Anal intercourse
  * Anal fingering
  * Anal fisting



 

                 Does the Submissive consent to the use of:

  * Vibrators
  * Butt plugs
  * Dildos
  * Other anal toys



                  Does the Submissive consent to:

  * Bondage with rope
  * Bondage with leather cuffs
  * Bondage with handcuffs/shackles/manacles
  * Bondage with tape
  * Bondage with other



                  Does the submissive consent to be restrained with:

  * Hands bound in front
  * Ankles bound
  * Elbows bound
  * Hands bound behind back
  * Knees bound
  * Wrists bound to ankles
  * Binding to fixed items, furniture, etc.
  * Binding with spreading bar
  * Suspension



Does the Submissive consent to be blindfolded?

Does the submissive consent to be gagged?

How much pain is the Submissive willing to experience?

Where 1 is likes intensely and 5 is dislikes intensely:

1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5

Does the Submissive consent to accept the following forms of pain/punishment/discipline:

  * Spanking
  * Whipping
  * Biting
  * Genital clamps
  * Hot wax
  * Paddling
  * Caning
  * Nipple clamps
  * Ice
  * Other types/methods of pain



So, his points:

2: Not sure why this is solely for MY benefit – i.e., to explore MY sensuality and limits. I’m sure I wouldn’t need a ten-page contract to do that! Surely this is for YOUR benefit.

**_Fair point well made, Mr Tomlinson!_ **

4: As you are aware, you are my only sexual partner. I don’t take drugs, and I’ve not had any blood transfusions. I’m probably safe. What about you?

**_Another fair point! And it dawns on me that this is the first time I haven’t had to consider the sexual history of a partner. Well, that’s one advantage of screwing a virgin._ **

8: I can terminate at any time if I don’t think you’re sticking to the agreed limits. Okay – I like this.

**_I hope it won’t come to that, but it wouldn’t be the first time if it did._ **

9: Obey you in all things? Accept without hesitation your discipline? We need to talk about this.

11: One-month trial period. Not three.

**_Only a month? That’s not long enough. How far can we go in a month?_ **

12: I cannot commit every weekend. I do have a life, or I will have. Perhaps three out of four?

**_And he’ll have the opportunity to socialise with other men? He’ll realise what he’s missing. I’m not sure about this._ **

15.2: Using my body as you see fit sexually or otherwise – please define “or otherwise.”

15.5: This whole discipline clause. I’m not sure I want to be whipped, flogged, or corporally punished. I am sure this would be in breach of clauses 2-5. And also “for any other reason.” That’s just mean – and you told me you weren’t a sadist.

**_Shit! Read on, Styles._ **

15.10: Like loaning me out to someone else would ever be an option. But I’m glad it’s here in black and white.

15.14: The Rules. More on those later.

15.19: Touching myself without your permission. What’s the problem with this? You know I don’t do it anyway.

15.21: Discipline – please see clause 15.5 above.

15.22: I can’t look into your eyes? Why?

15.24: Why can’t I touch you?

Rules:

Sleep – I’ll agree to six hours.

Food – I am not eating food from a prescribed list. The food list goes, or I do – deal breaker.

**_Well, this is going to be an issue!_ **

Clothes – As long as I only have to wear your clothes when I’m with you…okay.

Exercise – We agreed on three hours; this still says four.

Soft Limits:

Can we go through all of these? No fisting of any kind. What is suspension? Genital clamps – you have got to be kidding me.

Can you please let me know the arrangements for Wednesday? I am working until five p.m. that day.

Good night.

Lou

His response is a relief. Mr Tomlinson has put some thought into this, more so than anyone else I’ve dealt with over this contract.

He’s really engaged. He seems to be taking it seriously and we’ll have much to discuss on Wednesday. The uncertainty that I felt when leaving his apartment this evening recedes. There’s hope for our relationship, but first – he needs to sleep.

 **From:** Harry Styles

 **Subject:** Issues

 **Date:** May 24, 2011 00:07

 **To:** Louis Tomlinson

Mr Tomlinson,

That’s a long list. Why are you still up?

Harry Styles

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

A few minutes later his answer is in my inbox.

 **From:** Louis Tomlinson

 **Subject:** Burning the Midnight Oil

 **Date:** May 24, 2011 00:10

 **To:** Harry Styles

Sir,

If you recall, I was going through this list when I was distracted and bedded by a passing control freak.

Good night.

Lou

His e-mail makes me laugh out loud, but it irritates me in equal measure. He’s much more sassy in print and he has a great sense of humour, but the man needs sleep.

 **From:** Harry Styles

 **Subject:** Stop Burning the Midnight Oil

 **Date:** May 24, 2011 00:12

 **To:** Louis Tomlinson

GO TO BED, LOUIS.

Harry Styles

CEO & Control Freak, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

A few minutes pass and once I’m convinced he’s gone to bed, persuaded by my capital letters, I head into my bedroom. I take my laptop just in case he replies again.

Once in bed, I grab my book and read. After half an hour I give up. I can’t concentrate; my mind keeps straying to Lou, how he was this evening, and his e-mail.

I need to remind him of what I expect from our relationship. I don’t want him getting the wrong idea. I’ve strayed too far from my goal.

 _“Are you going to come and help Lou with the move?”_ Malik’s words remind me that unrealistic expectations have been set. Perhaps I could help them move?

_No. Stop now, Styles._

Opening my laptop, I read through his “Issues” e-mail again. I need to manage his expectations and try to find the right words to express how I feel.

Finally, I’m inspired.

 **From:** Harry Styles

 **Subject:** Your Issues

 **Date:** May 24, 2011 01:27

 **To:** Louis Tomlinson

Dear Mr. Tomlinson,

Following my more thorough examination of your issues, may I bring to your attention the definition of submissive.

[ s _uh_ b- **mis** -iv ] Submissive – adjective

  1. Inclined or ready to submit; unresistingly or humbly obedient: _submissive servants._



 

  1. Marked by or indicating submission: _a submissive reply._



 

Origin: 1580-90; submiss + -ive

 _Synonyms:_ 1\. Tractable, compliant, pliant, amenable. 2. Passive, resigned, patient, docile, tame, subdues. _Antonyms:_ 1\. Rebellious, disobedient.

Please bear this in mind for our meeting on Wednesday.

Harry Styles

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

That’s it. I hope he’ll find it amusing, but it gets my point across.

With that thought, I switch off my bedside light and fall asleep and dream.

His name is Lima. He’s bigger than me. He laughs. And smiles. And shouts. And talks all the time. He talks all the time to Mommy and Daddy. He is my brother. _Why don’t you talk?_ Lima says again and again and again. _Are you stupid?_ Lima says again and again and again. I jump on him and smack his face again and again and again. He cries. He cries a lot. I don’t cry. I never cry. Mommy is angry with me. I have to sit on the bottom stair. I have to sit for the longest time. But Lima never asks me why I don’t talk ever again. If I make my hand into a fist he runs away. Lima is scared of me. He knows I’m a monster.

WHEN I return from my run the next morning, I check my e-mail before having a shower. Nothing from Mr Tomlinson, but then it’s only 7:30. Maybe it’s a little early.

_Styles snap out of this. Get a grip._

I glare at the green-eyed prick who stares back at me from the mirror as I shave. _No more. Forget about him for today._

I have a job to do and a breakfast meeting to attend.

“FREDDIE was saying Barney may have a prototype of the tablet for you in a couple of days,” Ros tells me during our videoconference.

“I was studying the schematics yesterday. They were impressive, but I’m not sure we’re there yet. If we get this right there’s no telling where the technology could go, and what it could do in developing countries.”

“Don’t forget the home market,” she interjects.

“As if.”

“Harry, just how long are you going to be in Portland?” Ros sounds exasperated. “What’s going on down there?” Eyeing the webcam, she then peers hard at her screen, looking for clues in my expression.

“A merger.” I try to hide my smile.

“Does Marco know?”

I snort. Marco Inglis is the head of my mergers and acquisitions division. “No. It’s not that kind of merger.”

“Oh.” Ros is silenced momentarily and, from her look, surprised.

_Yeah. It’s private._

“Well, I hope you’re successful,” she says, smirking.

“Me, too,” I acknowledge with a smirk of my own. “Now, can we talk about Woods?”

Over the past year, we’ve acquired three tech companies. Two are booming, surpassing all targets, and one is struggling despite Marco’s initial optimism. Lucas Woods heads it up; he’s turned out to be an idiot – all show, no substance. The money has gone to his head and he’s lost focus and squandered the lead his company once has in fiber optics. My gut says asset-strip the company, fire Woods, and merge their technology division into GEH.

But Ros thinks Lucas needs more time – and that we need to plan if we’re going to liquidate and rebrand his company. If we do, it will involve expensive redundancies.

“I think Woods has had enough time to turn this around. He just won’t accept reality,” I say emphatically. “We need him gone, and I’d like Marco to estimate the costs of liquidating.”

“Marco wants to join us for this part of the call. I’ll get him to log in.”

AT 12:30 in the afternoon Taylor drives me to WSU in Vancouver for the lunch with the president, the head of the environmental sciences department, and the vice president of economic development. As we approach the long driveway, I can’t help looking out at all the students to see if I can spy Mr Tomlinson. Alas, I don’t see him; he’s probably holed up in the library reading a classic. The thought of him curled up somewhere with a book is comforting. There has been no reply to my last e-mail, but then he’s been working. Perhaps there’ll be something after lunch.

As we pull up outside the administration building my phone buzzes. It’s Anne. She never calls during the week.

“Mom?”

“Hello, darling. How are you?”

“Fine. I’m about to go into a meeting.”

“Your PA said you were in Portland.” Her voice is full of hope.

 _Damn._ She thinks I’m with Lou

“Yeah. On business.”

“How’s Louis?” _There it is!_

“Fine as far as I know, Anne. What do you want?”

 _Oh, Good Lord._ My mother is someone else whose expectations I have to manage.

“Gemma’s coming home a week early, on Saturday. I’m on call that day and your father is away at a legal conference presenting a panel on philanthropy and aid,” she says.

“You want me to meet her?”

“Will you?”

“Sure. Ask her to send me her flight details.”

“Thank you, darling. Say hi to Louis for me.”

“I have to go. Good-bye, Mom.” I hang up before she can ask any more awkward questions. Taylor opens the car door.

“I should be out of here by three.”

“Yes, Mr. Styles.”

“Will you be able to see your daughter tomorrow, Taylor?”

“Yes, sir.” His expression is warm and full of paternal pride.

“Great.”

“I’ll be here at three,” he confirms.

I head into the university’s administration building…This is going to be a long lunch.

I HAVE managed to keep Louis Tomlinson out of every waking thought today. Almost. During lunch time there were times when I found myself imagining us in my playroom…What did he call it? _The Red Room of Pain_. I shake my head, smiling, and check my e-mail. That man has a way with words, but so far there are no words from him today.

I change my suit to my sweats to get ready for the hotel gym. As I’m about to leave my room, I hear a ping. It’s him.

 **From:** Louis Tomlinson

 **Subject:** My Issues…What about Your Issues?

 **Date:** May 24, 2011 18:29

 **To:** Harry Styles

Sir,

Please note the date of origin: 1580-90. I would respectfully remind Sir that the year is 2011. We have come a long way since then.

May I offer a definition for _you_ to consider for our meeting:

Compromise [ kom-pr _uh-_ mahyz] – _noun_

  1. A settlement of differences by mutual concessions; an agreement reached by adjustment or opposing claims, principles, etc., by reciprocal modification of demands. 2. The result of such a settlement. 3. Something intermediate between different things: _The split-level is a compromise between a ranch house and a multistoried house. 4. An endangering, esp. of reputation; exposure to danger, suspicion, etc. a compromise of one’s integrity._



 

Lou

What a surprise, a provocative e-mail from Mr Tomlinson, but our meeting is still happening. _Well, that’s a relief._

 **From:** Harry Styles

 **Subject:** What about My Issues?

 **Date:** May 24, 2011 18:32

 **To:** Louis Tomlinson

Good point, well made, as ever, Mr Tomlinson. I will collect you from your apartment at 7:00 tomorrow.

Harry Styles

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

My phone buzzes. It’s Liam.

“Hey, hotshot. Zayn’s asked me to hassle you about the move.”

“The move?”

“Zayn and Lou, help moving, you dipshit.”

I give him an exaggerated sigh. He really is a crude asshole. “I can’t help. I’m meeting Gemma at the airport.”

“What? Can’t Mom do that, or Dad?”

“No. Mom called me this morning.”

“Then I guess that settles is. You never told me how you got on with Lou? Did you f – “

“Good-bye Liam.” I hang up. It’s none of his business and there’s an e-mail waiting for me.

 **From:** Louis Tomlinson

 **Subject:** 2011 – Men can drive

 **Date:** May 24, 2011 18:40

 **To:** Harry Styles

Sir,

I have a car. I can drive.

I would prefer to meet you somewhere.

Where shall I meet you?

At your hotel at 7:00?

Lou

How irritating. I write back immediately.

 **From:** Harry Styles

 **Subject:** Stubborn Young Men

 **Date:** May 24, 2011 18:43

 **To:** Louis Tomlinson

Dear Mr. Tomlinson,

I refer to my e-mail dated May 24, 2011, sent at 1:27, and the definition contained therein.

Do you ever think you’ll be able to do what you’re told?

Harry Styles

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

His responses is slow, which does nothing for my mood.

 **From:** Louis Tomlinson

 **Subject:** Intractable Men

 **Date:** May 24, 2011 18:49

 **To:** Harry Styles

Mr. Styles,

I would like to drive.

Please.

Lou

 _Intractable? Me? Fuck._ If our meeting goes as planned, his contrary behaviour will be a thing of the past. With that in mind, I agree.

 **From:** Harry Styles

 **Subject:** Exasperated Men

 **Date:** May 24, 2011 18:52

 **To:** Louis Tomlinson

Fine.

My hotel at 7:00.

 I’ll meet you in the Marble Bar.

Harry Styles

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

 **From:** Louis Tomlinson

 **Subject:** Not So Intractable Men

 **Date:** May 24, 2011 18:55

 **To:** Harry Styles

Thank you.

Lou x

And I’m rewarded with a kiss. Ignoring how that makes me feel, I let him know that he’s welcome. My mood has lifted as I head to the hotel gym.

He sent me a kiss…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know what ya finkk


	10. A change of heart?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ayup,
> 
> Chapter is quite short this time around but next one is a BIGGEN' so there's that..
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: Not my original story line, not my characters !!

** Wednesday, May 25, 2011 **

I order a glass of Sancerre and stand at the bar. I’ve been waiting for this moment all day and look repeatedly at my watch. This feels like a first date, and in a way it is. I’ve never taken a prospect out to dinner. I’ve sat through interminable meetings today, bought a business, and fired three people. Nothing I’ve done today, including running – twice – and a quick circuit in the gym, has dispelled the anxiety I’ve wrestled with all day. That power is in the hands of Louis Tomlinson. I want his submission.

I hope he’s not going to be late. I glance toward the entrance of the bar…and my mouth dries. He’s standing on the threshold, and for a second, I don’t realise it’s him. He looks exquisite: his hair slicked back neatly, the odd strand falling into his eyesight, darkened by the gel. It’s easy to see his delicate jawline and the gentle curve of his slender neck. He’s wearing dress shoes, black, like his tight-fitting suit. With a light purple shirt that accentuates his lithe, alluring figure.

_Wow._

I step forward to meet him. “You look stunning.” I whisper and kiss his cheek. Closing my eyes, I savour his scent; he smells heavenly. “A suit, Mr Tomlinson. I approve.” Diamonds in his ears would complete the ensemble; I must buy him a pair.

Taking his hand, I lead him to a booth.

“What would you like to drink?”

I’m rewarded with a knowing smile as he sits down. “I’ll have whatever you’re having, please.”

_Ah, he’s learning._ “Another glass of the Sancerre,” I tell the waiter, and I slide into the booth, opposite him. “They have an excellent wine cellar here,” I add, and take a moment to look at him. He’s got a tint of blush on his cheeks. And I remember when he first fell into my office, how ordinary I thought he looked. He is anything but ordinary. With a little confidence and the right clothes, he’s a goddess.

He shifts in his seat and his eyelashes flutter.

“Are you nervous?” I ask.

“Yes.”

_This is it, Styles._

Leaning forward, in a candid whisper, I tell him that I’m nervous too. He looks at me as if I’ve grown three heads.

_Yeah, I’m human too baby…just._

The waiter places Lou’s wine and two small plates of mixed nuts and olives between us.

Lou squares his shoulders, an indication that he means business, like he did when he first interviewed me. “So, how are we going to do this? Run through my points one by one?” he asks.

“Impatient as ever, Mr Tomlinson.”

“Well, I could ask you what you thought of the weather today,” he retorts.

_Oh, that smart mouth._

_Let him stew for a moment, Styles._

Keeping my eyes on his, I pop an olive in my mouth and lick my index finger. His eyes grow wider and darker.

“I thought the weather was particularly unexceptional today.” I try for nonchalance.

“Are you smirking at me, Mr. Styles?”

“I am, Mr. Tomlinson.”

He purses his lips to stifle his smile. “You know this contract is legally unenforceable.”

“I am fully aware of that, Mr Tomlinson.”

“Were you going to tell me at any point?”

_What? I didn’t think I’d have too…and you’ve worked it out for yourself. “_ You’d think I’d concede into something you don’t want to do, and then pretend that I have a legal hold over you?”

“Well, yes.”

_Whoa._ “You don’t think very highly of me, do you?”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“Louis, it doesn’t matter if it’s legal or not. It represents an arrangement that I would like to make with you – what I would like form you and what you can expect from me. If you don’t like it, then don’t sign. If you do sign and then decide you don’t like it, there are enough get-out clauses so you can walk away. Even if it were legally binding, do you think I’d drag you through the courts if you did decide to run?”

_What does he take me for?_

He considers me with his unfathomable blue eyes.

What I need him to understand is that this contract isn’t about the law, it’s about trust.

I want you to trust me, Louis.

As he takes a sip of wine I rush on, endeavouring to explain. “Relationships like this are built on honesty and trust. If you don’t trust me – trust me to know how I’m affecting you, how far I can go with you, how far I can take you – if you can’t be honest with me, then we really can’t do this.”

He rubs his chin as he considers what I’ve said.

“So it’s quite simple, Louis. Do you trust me or not?”

_And if he thinks so little of me, then we shouldn’t do this at all._

My gut is knotting with tension.

“Did you have similar discussion with, um…the fifteen?”

“No.” Why is he going off on this tangent?

“Why not?” he asks.

“Because they were all established submissive’s. They knew what they wanted out of a relationship with me and generally what I expected. With them, it was just a question of fine-tuning the soft limits, details like that.”

“Is there a store you go to? Submissive’s ‘R’ Us?” He arches an eyebrow and I laugh out loud. And like a magician’s rabbit the tension in my body disappears. “Not exactly.” My tone is wry.

“Then how?” He’s ever curious, but I don’t want to talk about Nick again. Last time I mentioned him Lou turned frosty. “Is that what you want to discuss? Or shall we get down to the nitty-gritty? Your issues, as you say.”

He frowns.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

He looks suspiciously at the olives. “No.”

“Have you eaten today?”

He hesitates.

_Shit._

“No,” he says. I try not to let him admission anger me.

“You have to eat, Louis. We can eat down here or in my suite. Which would you prefer?”

_He’ll never go for this._

“I think we should stay in public, on neutral ground.”

As predicted – sensible, Mr Tomlinson.

“Do you think that would stop me?” My voice is husky.

He swallows. “I hope so.”

_Put the boy out of his misery, Styles._

“Come, I have a private dining room booked. No public.” Rising, I hold out my hand to him.

_Will he take it?_

He looks from my face to my hand.

“Bring your wine,” I order. And he picks up his glass and places his hand in mine.

As we leave the bar, I notice admiring glances from other guests, and in the case of one handsome, athletic guy, over appreciation of my date. It’s not something I’ve dealt with before…and I don’t think I like it.

Upstairs on the mezzanine, the liveried young host dispatched by the maire d’ leads us to the room, I’ve booked. He only has eyes for Mr Tomlinson, and I give him a withering look that sends him in retreat from the opulent dining room. An older waiter seats Lou and drapes a napkin on his lap.

“I’ve ordered already. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, that’s fine,” he says with a gracious nod.

“It’s good to know that you can be amenable.” I smirk. “Now, where were we?”

“The nitty-gritty,” he says, focused on the task at hand, but then he takes a large gulp of wine and his cheeks colour. He must be looking for courage. I’ll have to watch how much he’s drinking, because he’s driving.

_He could always spend the night here…then I could peel him out of that enticing suit._

Regaining my focus, I return to business – Lou’s issues. From the inside pocket of my jacket I retrieve his e-mail. He squares his shoulders once more and gives me an expectant look, and I have to hide my amusement.

“Clause two. Agreed. This is for the benefit of us both. I shall redraft.”

He takes another sip.

“My sexual health? Well, all of my previous partners have had blood tests, and I have regular tests every six months for all the health risks you mention. All my recent tests are clear. I have never taken drugs. In fact, I’m vehemently antidrug. I have a strict no-tolerance policy in regard to drugs for all my employees, and I insist on random drug testing.”

In fact, one of the people I fired today failed his drug test.

He’s shocked, but I plow on. “I’ve never had any blood transfusions. Does that answer your question?”

He nods.

“Your next point I mentioned earlier. You can walk away anytime, Louis. I won’t stop you. If you go, however – that’s it. Just so you know.”

_No. Second. Chances. Ever._

“Okay,” he replies, though he doesn’t sound certain.

We both fall silent as the waiter enters with our appetisers. For a moment I wonder if I should have held this meeting at my office, then dismiss the thought as ridiculous. Only fools mix business with pleasure. I’ve kept my work and private life separate; it’s one of my golden rules, and the only exception to that is my relationship with Nick…but then he helped me start my business.

“I hope you like oysters,” I remark to Louis as the waiter leaves.

“I’ve never had one.”

“Really? Well. All you do is tip and swallow. I think you can manage that.” I stare pointedly at his mouth, remembering how well he can swallow. On cue he blushes, and I squeeze lemon juice on the shellfish and tip it into my mouth. “Hmm, delicious. Tastes of the sea.” I grin as he watches me, fascinated. “Go on.” I encourage him, knowing that he’s not one to back down from a challenge.

“So I don’t chew it?”

“No, Louis, you don’t.” And I try not to think about his teeth toying with my favourite part of my anatomy.

He presses them into his bottom lip, leaving little indentation marks.

_Damn._ The sight stirs my body and I shift in my chair. He reaches for an oyster, squeezes the lemon, holds back his head, and opens wide. As he tips the oyster into his mouth my body hardens.

“Well?” I ask, and I sound a little hoarse.

“I’ll have another,” he says with wry humour.

“Good boy.”

He asks me if I’ve chosen deliberately, knowing their reputed aphrodisiac qualities. I surprise him when I tell him they were simply at the top of the menu. “I don’t need an aphrodisiac near you.”

_Yeah, I could fuck you right now._

_Behave, Styles. Get this negotiation back on track._

“So, where were we?” I return to his e-mail and concentrate on his outstanding issues. Clause nine. “Obey me in all things. Yes, I want you to do that.” This is important to me. I need to know he’s safe and will do anything for me. “I need you to do that. Think of it as role-play, Louis.”

“But I’m worried you’ll hurt me.”

“Hurt me how?”

“Physically.”

“Do you really think I would do that? Go beyond any limit you can’t take.”

“You’ve said you’ve hurt someone before.”

“Yes, I have. It was a long time ago.”

“How did you hurt him?”

“I suspended him from my playroom ceiling. In fact, that’s one of your questions. Suspension – that’s what the karabiners are for in the playroom. Rope play. One of the ropes was tied too tightly.”

Appalled, he holds up his hand in a plea for me to stop.

Too much information.

“I don’t to know any more. So, you won’t suspend me, then?” he asks.

“Not if you really don’t want to. You can make that a hard limit.”

“Okay.” He exhales, relieved.

_Move on, Styles._ “So, obeying, do you think you can manage that?”

He stares at me with those eyes that see through my dark soul, and I don’t know what he’s going to say.

_Shit. This could be the end._

“I could try,” he says, his voice low.

It’s my turn to exhale. _I’m still in the game._ “Good.”

“Now term.” Clause eleven. “One month instead of three is no time at all, especially if you want a weekend away from me each month.” We’ll get nowhere in that time. He needs training and I can’t stay away from him for any length of time. I tell him as much. Maybe we can compromise, as he suggested. “How about one day over one weekend per month you get to yourself – but I get a mid-weeknight that week?”

I watch him weighing the possibility.

“Okay,” he says eventually, his expression serious.

Good.

“And please, let’s try it for three months. If it’s not for you, then you can walk away anytime.”

“Three months,” he says. Is he agreeing? I’ll take it as a “yes.”

_Right. Here goes._

“The ownership thing, that’s just terminology and goes back to the principal of obeying. It’s to get you into the right frame of mind, to understand where I’m coming from. And I want you to know that as soon as you cross my threshold as my submissive, I will do what I like to you. You have to accept that, and willingly. That’s why you have to trust me. I will fuck you, anytime, any way I want – anywhere I want. I will discipline you, because you will screw up. I will train you to please me.”

I pause.

“But I know you’ve not done this before. Initially, we’ll take it slowly, and I will help you. We’ll build up the various scenarios. I want you to trust me, but I know I have to earn your trust, and I will. The ‘or otherwise’ – again, it’s to help you get into the mind-set; it means anything goes.”

_Some speech, Styles._

He sits back – overwhelmed, I think.

“Still with me?” I ask, gently. The waiter sneaks into the room, and with a nod I give him permission to clear our table.

“Would you like some more wine?” I ask him.

“I have to drive.”

_Good answer._

“Some water, then?”

He nods.

“Still or sparkling?”

“Sparkling, please.”

The waiter leaves with our plates.

“You’re very quiet,” I whisper. He’s barely said a word.

“You’re very verbose,” he shoots straight back at me.

_Fair point, Mr. Tomlinson._

Now for the next item on his list of issues; clause fifteen. I take a deep breath. “Discipline. There’s a very fine line between pleasure and pain, Louis. They are two sides of the same coin, one not existing without the other. I can show you how pleasurable pain can be. You don’t believe me now, but this is what I mean about trust. There will be pain, but nothing that you can’t handle.” I cannot emphasize this enough. “Again, it comes down to trust. Do you trust me, Lou?”

“Yes, I do,” he says immediately. His response knocks me sideways: it’s completely unexpected.

Again.

Have I gained his trust already?

“Well, then, the rest of this stuff is just details.” I feel ten feet tall.

“Important details.”

He’s right. _Concentrate, Styles._

“Okay, let’s talk through those.”

The waiter re-enters with our entrées.

“I hope you like fish,” I say, as he places our food before us. The black cod looks delicious. Lou takes a bite.

Finally, he’s eating!

“The rules,” I continue. “Let’s talk about them. The food is a deal breaker?”

“Yes.”

“Can I modify to say that you will eat at least three meals a day?”

“No.”

Suppressing an irritated sigh, I persist.  “I need to know that you’re not hungry.”

He frowns. “You’ll have to trust me.”

“Oh, touché, Mr Tomlinson, I mutter to myself. These are battles I’m not going to win. “I concede the food and the sleep.”

He gives me a small, relieved smile.

“Why can’t I look at you?” He asks.

“That’s a Dom/Sub thing. You’ll get used to it.”

He frowns once more but looks pained this time. “Why can’t I touch you?” he asks.

“Because you can’t.”

_Shut him down, Styles._

“Is it because of Mrs. Robinson?”

_What?_ “Why would you think that? You think he traumatised me?”

He nods.

“No, Louis. He’s not the reason. Besides, Mrs. Robinson wouldn’t take any of that shit from me.”

“So nothing to do with him,” he asks, looking confused.

“No.”

_I can’t bear to be touched. And, baby, you really don’t want to know why._

“And I don’t want you touching yourself, either,” I add.

“Out of curiosity, why?”

“Because I want all your pleasure.”

_In fact, I want it now._ I could fuck him here to see if he can be quiet. Real quiet, knowing we’re within earshot of the hotel staff and guests. After all, that’s why I’ve booked this room.

He opens his mouth as if to say something but closes it again and takes another bite of food from his largely untouched plate. “I’ve given you a great deal to think about, haven’t I?” I say, folding up his e-mail and tucking it into my inside pocket.

“Yes.”

“Do you want to go through the soft limits now, too?”

“Not over dinner.”

“Squeamish?”

“Something like that.”

“You’ve not eaten very much.”

“I’ve had enough.”

_This is getting old._ “Three oysters, four bites of cod, and one asparagus stalk, no potatoes, no nuts, no olives, and you’ve not eaten all day. You said I could trust you.”

His eyes widen.

_Yeah. I’ve been keeping count, Lou._

“Harry, please, it’s not every day I sit though conversations like this.”

“I need you fit and healthy, Louis.” My tone is adamant.

“I know.”

“And right now, I want to peel you out of that suit.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he whispers. “We haven’t had dessert.”

“You want dessert?” When you haven’t eaten your main course?”

“Yes.”

“You could be dessert.”

“I’m not sure I’m sweet enough.”

“Louis, you’re deliciously sweet. I know.”

“Harry. You use sex as a weapon. It really isn’t fair.” He looks down at his lap, and his voice is low and a little melancholy. He looks up again, pinning me with an intense stare, his powder-blue eyes unnerving…and arousing.

“You’re right. I do,” I admit. “In life you use what you know. Doesn’t change how much I want you. Here. Now.” _And we could fuck here, right now._ I know you’re interested, Lou. I hear how your breathing has changed. “I’d like to try something.” I really want to know how quiet he can be, and if he can do this with the fear of discovery.

His brow creases once more; he’s confused.

“If you were my sub, you wouldn’t have to think about this. It would be easy. All those decisions – all the wearying thought processes behind them. The ‘Is this the right thing to do? Should this happen here? Can it happen now?’ You wouldn’t have to worry about any of that detail. That’s what I’d do as your Dom. And right now, I know you want me, Louis.”

He brings his palm to his forehead, then smooths it over his gelled hair. A frown intensifies as he licks his lips.

_Oh yes. He wants me._

“I can tell because your body gives you away. You’re pressing your thighs together, you’re flushed, and your breathing has changed.”

“How do you know about my thighs?” He asks, his voice high-pitched, shocked, I think.

“I felt the tablecloth move, and it’s a calculated guess based on years of experience. I’m right, aren’t I?”

He’s quiet for a moment and looks away. “I haven’t finished my cod,” he says, evasive and still blushing.

“You’d prefer cold cod to me?”

His eyes meet mine, and they’re wide, pupils dark and large. “I thought you liked me to clear my plate.”

“Right now, Mr Tomlinson, I couldn’t give a fuck about your food.”

“Harry. You just don’t fight fair.”

“I know. I never have.”

We stare at each other in a battle of wills, both aware of the sexual tension stretching between us across the table.

_Please, would you just do as you’re told?_ I implore him with a look. But his eyes glint with sensual disobedience and a smile lifts his lips. Still holding my stare, he picks up an asparagus spear and deliberately bites his lip.

_What is he doing?_

Very slowly, he places the tip of the spear in his mouth and sucks it.

_Fuck._

He’s trifling with me – a dangerous tactic that will have me fucking him over this table.

_Oh, bring it on, Mr Tomlinson._

I watch, mesmerised, hardening by the second.

“Louis. What are you doing?”

“Eating my asparagus,” he says with a coy smile.

“I think you’re toying with me, Mr Tomlinson.”

“I’m just finishing my food, Mr. Styles.” His lips curl wider, slowly, carnal, and the heat between us rises several degrees. He really has no idea how sexy he is…I’m about to pounce when the waiter knocks and enters.

_Damn it._

I let him clear the plates, then turn my attention back to Mr Tease. But his frown is back, and he’s fidgeting with his fingers.

_Hell._

“Would you like some dessert?”

“No thank you. I think I should go,” he says, still staring at his hands.

“Go?” _He’s leaving?_

The waiter exits quickly with our plates.

“Yes,” Lou says, his voice firm with resolve. He gets to his feet to leave. And automatically I stand, too. “We both have the graduation ceremony tomorrow,” he says.

_This is not going according to plan at all._

“I don’t want you to go,” I state, because it’s the truth.

“Please, I have to,” he insists.

“Why?”

“Because you’ve given me so much to consider, and I need some distance.” His eyes are pleading with me to let him go.

But we’ve gotten so far in our negotiation. We’ve made compromises. We can make this work. _I have to make this work._

“I could make you stay,” I tell him, knowing that I could seduce him right now, in this room.

“Yes, you could easily, but I don’t want you to.”

This is all going south – I’ve overplayed my hand. This isn’t how I thought the night would end. I rake my hands through my hair in frustration.

“You know, when you fell into my office to interview me, you were all ‘Yes, sir,’ ‘No, sir.’ I thought you were a natural-born submissive. But quite frankly, Louis, I’m not sure you have a submissive bone in your body.” I walk the few steps that separate us and look down into eyes that shine with determination.

“You may be right,” he says.

No. No. I don’t want to be right.

“I want the chance to explore the possibility that you do.” I caress his face and his lower lip with my thumb. “I don’t know any other way, Louis. This is who I am.”

“I know,” he says.

Lowering my head so my lips hover over his, I wait until he raises his mouth to mine and closes his eyes. I want to give him a brief, chaste kiss, but as our lips touch, he leans into me, his hands suddenly fisting in my hair, his mouth opening to me, his tongue insistent. I press my hand to the base of his spine, holding him against me, and depend the kiss, mirroring the fervour.

_Christ, I want him._

“I can’t persuade you to stay?” I whisper against the corner of his mouth, as my body responds, hardening with desire.

“No.”

“Spend the night with me.”

“And not touch you? No.”

_Damn._ The darkness uncoils in my guts, but I ignore it.

“You impossible boy,” I mutter, and pull back, examining his face and his tense, brooding expression.

“Why do I think you’re telling me good-bye?”

“Because I’m leaving now.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

“Harry, I have to think about this. I don’t know if I can have the kind of relationship you want.”

I close my eyes and rest my forehead against his.

_What did you expect, Styles? He’s not cut out for this._

I take a deep breath and kiss his forehead, then bury my nose in his hair, inhaling his sweet, autumnal scent and committing it to memory.

_That’s it. Enough._

Stepping back, I release him. “As you wish, Mr Tomlinson. I’ll escort you to the lobby.” I hold out my hand for what could be the last time, and I’m surprised how painful this thought is. He places his hand in mine, and in silence we head down to reception.

“Do you have your valet ticket?” I ask as we reach the lobby. I sound calm and collected, but inside I’m in knots.

From his pocket he retrieves the ticket, which I hand to the doorman.

“Thank you for dinner,” he says.

“It’s a pleasure as always, Mr Tomlinson.”

This cannot be the end. I have to show him – demonstrate what this all means, what we can do together. Show him what we can do in the playroom. Then he’ll know. This might be the only way to save this deal.

Quickly I turn to him. “You’re moving this weekend to Seattle. If you make the right decision, can I see you on Sunday?” I ask.

“We’ll see. Maybe,” he says.

_That’s not a “no.”_

I notice the goose bumps on his arms. “It’s cooler now, don’t you have a jacket?” I ask.

“No.”

This man needs looking after. I take off my jacket. “Here. I don’t want you catching a cold.” I slip it over his shoulders, and he hugs it around himself, closes his eyes, and inhales deeply.

_Is he drawn to my scent? Like I am to his?_

Perhaps all is not lost?

The valet pulls up in an ancient VW Beetle.

_What the hell is that?_

“That’s what you drive?” This must be older than Grandpa Theodore. _Jesus!_ The valet hands over the keys and I tip him generously. He deserves danger pay.

“Is this roadworthy?” I glare at Louis. How can he be safe in this rust bucket?

“Yes.”

“Will it make it to Seattle?”

“Yes. She will.”

“Safely?”

“Yes.” He tries to reassure me. “Okay, she’s old. But she’s mine, and she’s roadworthy. My stepdad bought it for me.”

When I suggest we could do better than this he realises what I’m offering and his expression changes immediately.

He’s mad.

“You’re _not_ buying me a car,” he says emphatically.

“We’ll see,” I mutter, trying to keep calm. I hold open the driver’s door, and as he climbs in I wonder if I should ask Taylor to take him home. _Damn._ I remember that he’s off this evening.

Once I’ve shut the door, he rolls down the window…painfully slowly.

_For Christ’s sake!_

“Drive safely,” I growl.

“Good-bye, Harry,” he says, and his voice falters, as if he’s trying not to cry.

_Shit._ My whole mood shifts from irritation and concern to helplessness for his well-being to helplessness as his car roars off up the street.

_I don’t know if I’ll see him again._

I stand like a fool on the sidewalk until his rear lights disappear into the night.

_Fuck. Why did that go so wrong?_

I stalk back into the hotel, make for the bar, and order a bottle of Sancerre. Taking it with me, I head up to my room. My laptop lies open on my desk, and before I uncork the wine, I sit down and start typing an e-mail.

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** Tonight

**Date:** May 25, 2011 22:01

**To:** Louis Tomlinson

I don’t understand why you ran this evening. I sincerely hope I answered all your questions to your satisfaction. I know I have given you a great deal to contemplate, and I fervently hope that you will give my proposal your serious consideration. I really want to make this work. We will take it slow. Trust me.

Harry Styles,

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I glance at my watch. It will take him at least twenty minutes to get home, probably longer in that death trap. I e-mail Taylor.

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** Audi A3

**Date:** May 25, 2011 22:04

**To:** Louis Tomlinson

I need that Audi delivered here tomorrow.

Thanks.

Harry Styles,

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

Opening the Sancerre, I pour myself a glass, and picking up my book, I sit and read, trying hard to concentrate. My eyes keep straying to my laptop screen. When will he reply?

As the minutes tick by, my anxiety balloons; why hasn’t he returned my e-mail?

At 11:00, I text him.

**Are you home safe?**

But I get nothing in response. Perhaps he’s gone straight to bed. Before midnight I send another e0-mail.

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** Tonight

**Date:** May 25, 2011 23:58

**To:** Louis Tomlinson

I hope you made it home in that car of yours.

Let me know if you’re okay.

Harry Styles,

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I’ll see him tomorrow at the graduation ceremony and I’ll find out then if he’s turning me down. With that depressing thought I strip down and climb into bed and stare at the ceiling.

_You’ve really fucked up this deal, Styles._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to The 1975's cover of WMYB on repeat whilst writing this - give it a listen, you know, for a laugh x 
> 
> Love u all x


	11. I need to know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ummmm...hi
> 
> I really do not have an explanation as to why I haven't updated this in so long
> 
> But anyway, I hope to not leave it as long next time
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Not my story, not my characters

** Thursday, May 26, 2011 **

Mommy is gone. Sometimes she goes outside. And it’s only me. Me and my cars and my blankie.

When she comes home, she sleeps on the couch. The couch is brown and sticky. She is tired. Sometimes I cover her with my blankie.

Or she comes home with something to eat. I like those days. We have bread and butter. And sometimes we have macaroni and cheese. That is my favourite.

Today Mommy is gone. I play with my cars. They go fast on the floor. My Mommy is gone. She will come back. She will. When is Mommy coming home?

It is dark now, and Mommy is gone. I can reach the light when I stand on the stool.

On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. Light. Dark. Light. Dark. Light. Dark.

I’m hungry. I eat the cheese in the fridge. Cheese with blue fur.

When is Mommy coming home?

Sometimes she comes home with him. I hate him. I hide when he comes. My favourite place is in Mommy’s closet. It smells of Mommy when she’s happy.

When is Mommy coming home?

My bed is cold. And I am hungry. I have my blankie and my cars but not my Mommy. When is my Mommy coming home?

I wake with a start.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

I hate my dreams. They’re riddles with harrowing memories, distorted reminders of a time I want to forget. My heart is pounding, and I’m drenched in sweat. But the worst consequence of these nightmares is dealing with the overwhelming anxiety when I wake.

My nightmares have recently become more frequent, and more vivid. I have no idea why. Damned Flynn – he’s not back until some time next week. I run both my hands through my hair and check the time. It’s 5:38, and the dawn light is seeping through the curtains. It’s nearly time to get up.

_Go for a run, Styles._

THERE is still no text or e-mail from Louis. As my feet pound the sidewalk, my anxiety grows.

_Leave it, Styles._

_Just fucking leave it!_

I know I’ll see him at the graduation ceremony.

But I can’t leave it.

Before my shower, I send him another text.

**Call me.**

I just need to know he’s safe.

AFTER breakfast there’s still no word from Louis. To get him out of my head I work for a couple of hours on my commencement speech. At the graduation ceremony later this morning I’ll be honouring the extraordinary work of the environmental sciences department and the progress they’ve made in partnership with GEH in arable technology for developing countries.

_“All part of your feed-the-world plan?”_ Lou’s shrewd words echo in my head, and they nudge at last night’s nightmare.

I shrug off as I rewrite. Sam, my VP for publicity, has sent a draft that is too pretentious for me. It takes me an hour to rework his media-speak bullshit into something more human.

Nine thirty and still no word from Louis. His radio silence is worrying – and frankly rude. I call, but his phone goes straight to a generic voice mail message.

I hang up.

Show some dignity, Styles.

There’s a ping in my inbox, and my heartbeat spikes – but it’s from Gemma. In spite of my bad mood, I smile. I’ve missed that kid.

**From:** Gemma S. Chief Extraordinaire

**Subject:** Flights

**Date:** May 26, 2011 18:32 GMT-1

**To:** Harry Styles

Hey, Harry.

I can’t wait to get out of here!

Rescue me. Please.

My flight number on Saturday is AF3622. It arrives at 12:22 p.m. and Dad is making me fly coach! *Pouting!

I will have lots of luggage. Love. Love. Love Paris fashion.

Mom says you have a boyfriend?

Is this true?

What’s he like?

I NEED TO KNOW!!!!!

See you Saturday. Missed you so much,

A bientôt mon frère.

G xxxxxxx

_Oh hell!_ My mother’s big mouth. Lou is not my boyfriend! And come Saturday I’ll have to fend off my sister’s equally big mouth and her inherent optimism and her prying questions. She can be exhausting. Making a mental note of the flight number and time, I send Gemma a quick e-mail to let her know I’ll be there.

At 9:45 I get ready for the ceremony. Grey suit, white shirt, and of course _that_ tie. It will be my subtle message to Louis that I haven’t given up, and a reminder of good times.

Yeah, real good times…images of him bound and wanting come to mind. _Damn it. Why hasn’t he called?_ I press redial.

_Shit._

Still not fucking answer!

At 10:00 precisely, there’s a knock on my door. It’s Taylor.

“Good morning,” I say, as he comes in.

“Mr. Styles.”

“How was yesterday?”

“Good, sir.” Taylor’s demeanour shifts, and his expression warms. He must be thinking of his daughter.

“Sophie?”

“She’s a doll, sir. And doing very well in school.”

“That’s great to hear.”

“The A3 will be in Portland later this afternoon.”

“Excellent. Let’s go.”

And though I’m loath to admit it, I’m anxious to see Mr Tomlinson.

THE chancellor’s secretary ushers me into a small room adjacent to the WSU auditorium. She blushes, almost as much as a certain young man I know intimately. There, in the greenroom, academics, administrative staff, and a few students are having pre-graduation coffee. Among them, to my surprise, is Zayn Malik.

“Hi, Harry,” he says, strutting toward me with the confidence of the well-heeled. He’s in his graduation gown and appears cheerful enough; surely he’s seen Lou.

“Hi, Zayn. How are you?”

“You seem baffled to see me here,” he says, ignoring my greeting and sounding a little affronted. “I’m valedictorian. Didn’t Liam tell you?”

“No, he didn’t.” _We’re not in each other’s pockets, for Christ’s sakes._ “Congratulations,” I add as a courtesy.

“Thank you.” His tone is clipped.

“Is Lou here?”

“Soon. He’s coming with his dad.”

“You saw him this morning?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I wanted to know if he made it home in that death-trap, he calls a car.”

“Wanda. He calls it Wanda. And yes, he did.” He gazes at me with a quizzical expression.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

At that point the chancellor joins us, and with a polite smile to Malik, escorts me over to meet the other academics.

I’m relieved that Louis is in one piece, but pissed that he hasn’t replied to any of my messages.

It’s not a good sign.

But I don’t have long to dwell on this discouraging state of affairs – one if the faculty members announces it’s time to begin and herds us out into the corridor.

In a moment of weakness, I try Lou’s phone once more. It goes straight to voicemail, and I’m interrupted by Malik. “I’m looking forward to your commencement address,” he says as we walk down the hallway.

When we reach the auditorium, I notice it’s larger than I expected, and packed. The audience, as one, rises and applauds as we file onto the stage. The clapping intensifies, then slowly subsides to an expectant buzz as everyone takes their seats.

Once the chancellor begins his welcome address, I’m able to scan the room. The front rows are filled with students, in identical black-and-red WSU robes. _Where is he?_ Methodically I inspect each row.

_There you are._

I find him huddled in the second row. He’s alive. I feel foolish for expending so much anxiety and energy on his whereabouts last night and this morning. His brilliant blue eyes are wide as they lock with mine, and he shifts in his seat, a slow flush colouring his cheeks.

_Yes. I’ve found you. And you haven’t replied to my messages._ He’s avoiding me and I’m pissed. Really pissed. Closing my eyes, I imagine dripping hot wax onto his chest and him squirming beneath me. This has a radical effect on my body.

_Shit._

_Get it together, Styles._

Dismissing him from my mind, I marshal my lascivious thoughts and concentrate on the speeches.

Malik gives an inspiring address about embracing opportunities – _yes, carpe diem, Zayn_ – and he gets a rousing reception when he’s finished. He’s obviously smart and popular and confident. Not the shy and retiring wallflower that is the lovely Mr Tomlinson. It really amazes me that these two are friends.

I hear my name announced; the chancellor has introduced me. I rise and approach the lectern. _Showtime, Styles._

“I’m profoundly grateful and touched by the great compliment accorded to me by the authorities of WSU today. It offers me a rare opportunity to talk about the impressive work of the environmental sciences department here at the university. Our aim is to develop viable and ecologically sustainable methods of farming for third world countries; our ultimate goal is to help eradicate hunger and poverty across the globe. Over a billion people, mainly in sub-Saharan Africa, South Asia, and Latin America, live in abject poverty. Agricultural dysfunction is rife within these parts of the world, and the result is ecological and social destruction. I have known what it’s like to be profoundly hungry. This is a very personal journey for me.

“As partners, WSU and GEH have made a tremendous progress in soil fertility and arable technology. We are pioneering low-input systems in developing countries, and our test sites have increased crop yields up to thirty percent per hectare. WSU has been instrumental in this fantastic achievement. And GEH is proud of those students who join us through internships to work at our test sites in Africa. The work they do there benefits the local communities and the students themselves. Together we can fight hunger and the abject poverty that blights these regions.

“But in this age of technological evolution, as the first world races ahead, widening the gap between the haves and the have-nots, it’s vital to remember that we must not squander the world’s finite resources. These resources are for all humanity, and we need to harness them, find ways of renewing them, and develop new solutions to feed our overpopulated planet.

“As I’ve said, the work that GEH and WSU are doing together will provide solutions, and it’s our job to get the message out there. It’s through GEH’s telecommunications division that we intend to supply information and education to the developing world. I’m proud to say that we’re making impressive progress in solar technology, battery life, and wireless distribution that will bring the Internet to the remotest parts of the world – and our goal is to make it free to users at the point of delivery. Access to education and information, which we take for granted here, is the crucial component for ending poverty in these developing regions.

“We’re lucky. We’re all privileged here. Some more than others, and I include myself in that category. We have a moral obligation to offer those less fortunate a decent life that’s healthy, secure, and well nourished, with access to more resources that we all enjoy here.

“I’ll leave you with a quote that has always resonated with me. And I’m paraphrasing a Native American saying: ‘Only when the last leaf has fallen, the last tree has died, and the last fish has been caught will we realise that we cannot eat money’.”

As I sit down to a rousing applause, I resist looking at Lou and examine the WSU banner hanging at the back of the auditorium. If he wants to ignore me, fine. Two can play at that game.

The vice chancellor rises to commence handing out the degrees. And so begins the agonising wait until we reach the S’s and I can see him again.

After an eternity I hear his name called: “Louis William Tomlinson.” A ripple of applause, and he’s walking toward me looking pensive and worried.

_Shit._

_What is he thinking?_

_Hold it together, Styles._

“Congratulation, Mr Tomlinson,” I say as I give Lou his degree. We shake hands, but I don’t let his go. “Do you have a problem with your laptop?”

He looks perplexed. “No.”

“Then you _are_ ignoring my e-mails?” I release him.

“I only saw the mergers and acquisitions one.”

_What the hell does that mean?_

His frown deepens, but I have to let him go – there’s a line forming behind him.

“Later.” I let him know that we’re not finished with this conversation as he moves on.

I’m in purgatory by the time we’ve reached the end of the line. I’ve been ogled, and had eyelashes batted at me, silly giggling girls squeezing my hand, and five notes with phone numbers pressed into my palm. I’m relieved as I exit the stage along with the faculty, to the strains of some dreary processional music and applause.

In the corridor I grab Malik’s arm. “I need to speak to Louis. Can you find him? Now.”

Malik is taken aback, but before he can say anything I add, in as polite a tone as I can manage, “Please.”

His lips thin with disapproval, but he waits with me as the academics file past and then he returns to the auditorium. The chancellor stops the congratulate me on my speech.

“It was an honour to be asked,” I respond, shaking his hand once again. Out of the corner of my eye I spy Zayn in the corridor – with Louis at his side. Excusing myself, I stride toward Louis.

“Thank you,” I say to Zayn, who gives Louis a worried glance. Ignoring him, I take Louis’ elbow and lead him through the first door I find. It’s a men’s locker room, and from the fresh smell I can tell it’s empty. Locking the door, I turn to face Mr Tomlinson. “Why haven’t you e-mailed me? Or texted me back?” I demand.

He blinks a couple of times, consternation writ large on his face. “I haven’t looked at my computer today, or my phone.” He seems genuinely bewildered by my outburst. “That was a great speech,” he adds.

“Thank you,” I mutter, derailed. How can he not have checked his phone or e-mail?

“Explains your food issues to me,” he says, his tone gentle – and if I’m not mistaken, pitying, too.

“Louis, I don’t want to go there at the moment.”

_I don’t need your pity._

I close my eyes. All this time I thought he didn’t want to talk to me. “I’ve been worried about you.”

“Worried, why?”

“Because you went home in that death-trap you call a car.”

_And I thought I’d blown the deal between us._

Louis bristles. “What? It’s not a death-trap. It’s fine. Niall regularly services it for me.”

“Niall, the photographer?” This just gets better and fucking better.

“Yes, the Beetle used to belong to his mother.”

“Yes, and probably her mother and her mother before her. It’s not safe.” I’m almost shouting.

“I’ve been driving it for over three years. I’m sorry you were worried. Why didn’t you call?”

I called his cell phone. Does he not use his damned cell phone? Is he talking about the house phone? Running my hand through my hair in exasperation, I take a deep breath. This is not addressing the fucking elephant in the room.

“Louis, I need an answer from you. This waiting around is driving me crazy.”

His face falls.

_Shit._

“Harry, I…look, I’ve left my stepdad on his own.”

“Tomorrow. I want an answer by tomorrow.”

“Okay. Tomorrow, I’ll tell you then,” he says with an anxious look.

_Well, it’s still not a “no”._ And once more, I’m surprised by my relief.

What the hell is it about this boy?

He stares up at me with sincere blue eyes, his face etched with concern, and I resist the urge to touch him. “Are you staying for drinks?” I ask.

“I don’t know what Mark wants to do.” He looks uncertain.

“Your stepfather? I’d like to meet him.”

His uncertainty magnifies. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he says darkly, as I unlock the door.

_What? Why?_ Is this because he now knows I was dirt-poor kid? Or because he knows how I like to fuck? That I’m a freak?

“Are you ashamed of me?”

“No!” he exclaims, and he rolls his eyes in frustration. “Introduce you to my dad as what?” He raises his hands in exasperation. “‘This is the man who deflowered me and wants us to start a BDSM relationship’? You’re not wearing running shoes.”

_Running shoes?_

His dad is going to come after me? And just like that he has injected a little humour between us. My mouth twitches in response and he returns my smile, his face lighting up like a summer dawn.

“Just so you know, I can run quite fast,” I respond playfully. “Just tell him I’m your friend, Louis.” I open the door and follow him out but stop when I reach the chancellor and his colleagues. As one they turn and stare at Mr Tomlinson, but he’s disappearing into the auditorium. They turn back to me.

_Mr Tomlinson and I are none of your business, people._

I give the chancellor a brief, polite nod and he asks if I’ll come and meet more of his colleagues and enjoy some canapes.

“Sure,” I reply.

It takes me thirty minutes to escape from the faculty gathering, and as I make my way out of the crowded reception Malik falls into step beside me. We head to the lawn where the graduates and their families are enjoying a post-graduation drink in a large tented pavilion.

“So, have you asked Louis to dinner on Sunday?” he asks.

_Sunday? Has Louis mentioned that we’re seeing each other on Sunday?_

“At your parents’ house,” Malik explains.

_My parents?_

I spot Lou.

_What the fuck?_

A tall, dark and handsome type guy, who looks as if he’s just walked off the end of a runway stage during fashion week has his hands all over him.

_Who the hell is that? Is this why he didn’t want me to come for a drink?_

Louis looks up, catches my expression, and pales as his roommate stands beside that guy. “Hello, Mark,” Malik says, and he kisses a middle-aged man in an ill-fitting suit standing beside Lou.

This must be Mark Tomlinson.

“Have you met Louis’ boyfriend?” Malik asks him. “Harry Styles.”

_Boyfriend!_

“Mr. Tomlinson, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Mr. Styles,” he says, quietly surprised. We shake hands; his grip is firm, and his fingers and palm are rough to the touch. This man works with his hands. Then I remember – he’s a carpenter. His dark blue eyes give nothing away.

“And this is my brother, Saf Malik,” says Zayn, introducing the Mr. Photogenic who has his arm wrapped around Lou.

_Ah._ The Malik offspring, together.

I mutter his name as we shake hands, noting they are soft, unlike Mark Tomlinson’s.

_Now stop pawing at my boy, you fucker._

“Lou, baby,” I whisper, holding out my hand, and like the good boy he is, he steps into my embrace. He’s discarded his graduation robe and wears a pale grey turtle neck with grey and blue tartan stitched trousers, exposing his ankles and smart shoes. His hair is soft and tousled, but smartly swept to one side.

_He really is spoiling me._

“Saf, Mum and Dada wanted a word.” Malik hauls his brother away, leaving me with Louis and his father.

“So, how long have you kids known each other?” Mr. Tomlinson asks.

As I reach across to grasp Lou’s shoulder, I gently trace my thumb across his back and he trembles in response. I tell him we’ve known each other for a couple of weeks. “We met when Louis came to interview me for the student newspaper.”

“Didn’t know you worked on the student newspaper, Lou,” Mr. Tomlinson says.

“Zayn was ill,” he says.

Mark eyes his son and frowns. “Fine speech you gave, Mr. Styles,” he says.

“Thank you, sir. I understand you are a keen fisherman.”

“Indeed I am. Louis tell you that?”

“He did.”

“You fish?” There’s a spark of curiosity in his blue eyes.

“Not as much as I’d like to. My dad used to take my brother and me when we were kids. For him it was all about the steelheads. Guess I caught the bug from him.” Lou listens for a moment, then excuses himself and moves off through the crowd to join the Malik clan.

_Damn_ , he looks sensational in those trousers.

“Oh? Where’d you fish?” Mark Tomlinson’s question pulls me back into the conversation. I know it’s a test.

“All over the Pacific Northwest.”

“You grew up in Washington?”

“Yes, sir. My dad started us on the Wynoochee River.”

A smile tugs as Mark’s mouth. “Know it well.”

“But his favourite is the Skagit. The U.S side. He’d get us out of bed at some ungodly hour of the morning and we’d drive up there. He’s caught some mighty fine fish in that river.”

“That’s some sweet water. Caught me some rod breakers in the Skagit. On the Canadian side, mind.”

“It’s one of the best stretches for wild steelheads. Give you a much better chase than those that are clipped,” I say, my eyes on Louis.

“Couldn’t agree more.”

“My brother has caught a couple of wild monsters. Me, I’m still waiting for the big one.”

“One day, huh?”

“I hope so.”

Lou is deep in a passionate discussion with Malik. _What are those two boys talking about?_

“You still get out much to fish?” I refocus on Mr. Tomlinson.

“Sure do. Lou’s friend Niall, his father, and I sneak out as often as we can.”

_The fucking photographer! Again?_

“He’s the guy who looks after the Beetle?”

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“Great car, the Beetle. I’m a fan of German-made cars.”

“Yeah? Louis loves the old car, but I guess it’s getting past its sell-by date.”

“Funny you should mention that. I was thinking of loaning him one of my company cars. Do you think he’ll go for it?”

“I guess. That would be up to Louis, mind.”

“Great. I take it Lou’s not into fishing?”

“No. That boy takes after his mother. He couldn’t stomach seeing the fish suffer. Or the worms, for that matter. He’s a gentle soul.” He gives me a pointed look. _Oh._ A warning from Mark Tomlinson. I turn it into a joke.

“No wonder he wasn’t keen on the cod we ate the other day.”

Tomlinson chuckles. “He’s fine with eating them.”

Louis has finished talking to the Malik’s and is heading our way. “Hi,” he says, beaming at us.

“Louis, where are the restrooms?” Tomlinson asks.

He directs him to go outside the pavilion and to the left.

“See you in a moment. You kids enjoy yourselves,” he says.

He watches him go, then peers nervously up at me. But before he or I can say anything we’re interrupted by a photographer. She snaps a quick still of us together before hurrying away.

“So, you’ve charmed my father as well?” Lou says, his voice is sweet and teasing.

“As well?” _Have I charmed you, Louis Tomlinson?_

With my fingers I trace the rosy flush that appears on his cheek. “Oh, I wish I knew what you were thinking, Louis.”

When my fingers reach his chin, I tilt his head back so I can scrutinize his expression. He stills and stares back at me, his pupils darkening.

“Right now,” he whispers, “I’m thinking, nice tie.”

I was expecting some kind of declaration; his response makes me laugh. “It’s recently become my favourite.”

He smiles.

“You look lovely, Louis. This turtleneck jumper suits you, and I get to stroke your back, feel you.”

His lips part and his breath hitches, and I can feel the pull of attraction between us.

“You know it’s going to be good, don’t you, baby?” My voice is low, betraying my longing.

He closes his eyes, swallows, and takes a deep breath. When he opens them again, he’s radiating anxiety. “But I want more,” he says.

“More?”

_Fuck. What is this?_

He nods.

“More?” I whisper again. His lip is pliant between my thumb. “You want hearts and flowers.” _Fuck._ It will never work with him. I don’t do romance. My hopes and dreams begin to crumble between us.

His eyes are wide, innocent, and beseeching.

_Damn._ He’s so beguiling. “Louis. It’s not something I know.”

“Me, neither.”

Of course; he’s never had a relationship before. “You don’t know much.”

“You know all the wrong things,” he breathes.

“Wrong? Not to me. Try it,” I plead.

_Please. Try it my way._

His gaze is intense as he searches my face, looking for clues. And for a moment I’m lost in blue eyes that see everything.

“Okay,” he whispers.

“What?” Every hair on my body stands to attention.

“You’re agreeing?” I don’t believe it.

“Subject to the soft limits, yes. I’ll try.”

_Sweet. Lord._ I pull him into my arms and wrap him in my embrace, burying my face in his hair, inhaling his seductive scent. And I don’t care that we’re in a crowded space. It’s just him and me. “Jesus, Lou, you’re so unexpected. You take my breath away.”

A moment later I’m aware that Mark Tomlinson has returned and is examining his watch to cover his embarrassment. Reluctantly, I release him. I’m on top of the world.

_Deal done, Styles!_

“Louis, should we get some lunch?” Tomlinson asks.

“Okay,” he says with a shy smile directed at me.

“Would you like to join us, Harry?” For a moment I’m tempted, but Louis’ anxious glance in my direction says, _Please, no._ He wants alone time with his dad. I get it.

“Thank you, Mr. Tomlinson, but I have plans. It’s been great to meet you, sir.”

_Try and control your stupid grin, Styles._

“Likewise,” Mark replies – sincerely, I think. “Look after my baby boy.”

“Oh, I fully intend to,” I respond, shaking his hand.

_In ways that you can’t possibly imagine, Mr. Tomlinson._

I take Louis’ hand and bring his knuckles to my lips. “Later, Tomlinson,” I murmur. _You’ve made me a happy, happy man._

Mark gives me a brief nod, and taking his son’s elbow, leads him out of the reception. I stand dazed but brimming with hope.

He’s agreed.

“Harry Styles?” My joy is interrupted by Eamon Malik, Zayn’s father.

“Eamon, how are you?” We shake hands.

TAYLOR collects me at 3:30. “Good afternoon, sir,” he says, opening my car door.

En route he informs me that the Audi A3 has been delivered to The Heathman. Now I just have to give it to Louis. No doubt this will involve a discussion, and deep down I know it will be more than just a discussion. Then again, he’s agreed to be my submissive, so maybe he’ll accept my gift without any fuss.

_Who are you kidding, Styles?_

A man can dream. I hope we can meet this evening; I’ll give it to him as his graduation present.

I call Andrea and tell her to put a WebEx breakfast meeting into my schedule tomorrow with Eamon Malik and his associates in New York. Malik is interested in upgrading his fiber-optic network. I ask Andrea to have Ros and Fred on standby for the meeting, too. He relays some messages – nothing important – and reminds me I have to attend a charity function tomorrow in Seattle.

Tonight, will be my last night in Portland. It’s almost Lou’s last night here, too…   I contemplate calling him, but there’s little point since he doesn’t have his cell phone. And he’s enjoying time with his dad.

Staring out the car window as we drive toward The Heathman, I watch the good people of Portland go about their afternoon. At a stoplight there’s a young couple arguing on the sidewalk over a spilled bag of groceries. Another couple, even younger, walks hand in hand past them, eyes locked and giggling. The girl leans up and whispers something into the ear of the tattooed beau. He laughs, leans down, and kisses her quickly, then opens the door to a coffee shop and steps aside to let her enter.

Lou wants “more.” I sigh heavily and plow my fingers through my hair. They always want more. All of them. What can I do about that? The hand-in-hand couple strolling to the coffee shop – Louis and I did that. We’ve eaten together at two restaurants, and it was…fun. Perhaps I could try. After all, he’s giving me so much. I loosen my tie. _Could I do more?_

BACK in my room, I strip down, pull on my sweats, and head downstairs for a quick circuit in the gym. Enforced socialising has stretched the limits of my patience and I need to work off some excess energy. And I need to think about _more_.

ONCE I’m showered and dressed and back in front of my laptop, Ros calls via WebEx to check in and we talk for forty minutes. We cover all of the items on her agenda, including the Taiwan proposal and Darfur. The cost of the airdrop is staggering, but it’s safer for all involved. I give her the go-ahead. Now we have to wait for the shipment in Rotterdam.

“I’m up to date on Malik Media. I think Barney should be in on the meeting, too,” Ros says.

“If you think so. Let Andrea know.”

“Will do. How was the graduation ceremony?” she asks.

“Good. Unexpected.”

_Lou agreed to be mine._

“Unexpected good?”

“Yes.”

From the screen Ros peers at me, intrigues, but I say nothing more.

“Andrea tells me you’re back in Seattle tomorrow.”

“Yes. I have a function to attend in the evening.”

“Well, I hope your ‘merger’ has been successful.”

“I would say affirmative at this point, Ros.”

She smirks. “Glad to hear it. I have another meeting, so if there’s nothing else, I’ll say goodbye for now.”

“Goodbye.” I log out of WebEx and into e-mail, turning my attention to this evening.

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** Soft Limits

**Date:** May 26, 2011 17:22

**To:** Louis Tomlinson

What can I say that I haven’t already?

Happy to talk these through anytime.

You looked beautiful today.

Harry Styles,

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

And to think this morning I was convinced it was all over between us.

_Jesus, Styles. You need to get a grip._ Flynn would have a field day.

Of course, part of the reason was he didn’t have his phone. Perhaps he needs a more reliable form of communication.

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** Blackberry

**Date:** May 26, 2011 17:36

**To:** J B Taylor

**Cc:** Andrea Ashton

Taylor,

Please source a new Blackberry for Louis Tomlinson with his e-mail preinstalled. Andrea can get the account details from Barney and get them to you.

Please deliver it tomorrow either to his home or Clayton’s.

Harry Styles,

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

Once that’s sent, I pick up the latest _Forbes_ and start to read.

By 6:30 there’s no response from Louis, so I assume he’ still entertaining the quiet and unassuming Mark Tomlinson. Given that they aren’t related, they’re remarkably similar.

I order the seafood risotto from room service and while I wait, I read more of my book.

ANNE calls while I’m reading.

“Harry, darling.”

“Hello, mother.”

“Did Gemma get in touch?”

“Yes. I have her flight details. I’ll pick her up.”

“Great. Now, I hope you’ll stay for dinner on Saturday.”

“Sure.”

“And then on Sunday Liam is bringing his friend Zayn to dinner. Would you like to come? You could bring Louis?”

That’s what Malik was talking about today.

I play for time. “I’ll have to see if he’s free.”

“Let me know. It will be lovely to have all the family together again.”

I roll my eyes. “If you say so, Mother.”

“I do, darling. See you Saturday.”

She hangs up.

_Take Louis to meet my parents? How the hell do I get out of that?_

As I contemplate this predicament, an e-mail arrives.

**From:** Louis Tomlinson

**Subject:** Soft Limits

**Date:** May 26, 2011 19:23

**To:** Harry Styles

I can come over this evening to discuss if you’d like.

Lou

_No, no baby. Not in that car._ And my plans fall into place.

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** Soft Limits

**Date:** May 26, 2011 19:27

**To:** Louis Tomlinson

I’ll come to you. I meant it when I said I wasn’t happy about you driving that car.

I’ll be with you shortly.

Harry Styles,

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I print out another copy of the “Soft Limits” from the contracts and his “Issues” e-mail because I’ve left my first copy in my jacket, which he still has in his possession. Then I call Taylor in his room.

“I’m going to deliver the car to Louis. Can you pick me up from his place – say, nine thirty?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Before I leave, I stuff two condoms into the back pocket of my jeans.

_I might get lucky._

THE A3 is fun to drive, though it’s got less torque than I’m used to. I pull up outside a liquor store on the outskirts of Portland to buy some celebratory champagne. I forgo the Cristal and the Dom Perignon for Bollinger, mostly because it’s the 1999 vintage, and chilled, but also because it’s pink…symbolic, I think with a smirk, as I hand my AmEx to the cashier.

Lou is still wearing the stunning grey turtle neck with his smart, grey and blue tartan trousers when he opens the door. I look forward to peeling them off him later.

“Hi,” he says, his eyes large and luminous in his beautiful face.

“Hi.”

“Come in.” He seems shy and awkward. _Why? What’s happened?_

“If I may.” I hold up the bottle of champagne. “I thought we’d celebrate your graduation. Nothing beats a good Bollinger.”

“Interesting choice of words.” His voice is sardonic.

“Oh, I like your ready wit, Louis.” There he is…my boy.

“We only have teacups. We’ve packed all the glasses.”

“Teacups? Sounds good to me.”

I watch him wonder into the kitchen. He’s nervous and skittish. Perhaps because he’s had a big day, or because he’s agreed to my terms, or because he’s here alone – I know Malik is with his own family this evening; his father told me. I hope the champagne will help Louis relax…and talk.

The room is empty, except for packing crates, the sofa, and the table. There’s a brown pencil on the table with a handwritten note attached.

“I agree to the conditions, Angel; because you know best what my punishment ought to be: only – only – don’t make it more than I can bear!”

“Do you want saucers as well?” he calls.

“Teacups will be fine, Louis,” I respond, distracted. He’s wrapped up the books – the first editions I sent him. He’s giving them back to me. He doesn’t want them. This is why he’s nervous.

How the hell will he react to the car?

Looking up, I see him standing there, watching me. And carefully he places the cups on the table.

“That’s for you.” His voice is small and strained.

“Hmm, I figured as much,” I mutter. “Very apt quote.” I trace his handwriting with my finger. The letters are small and neat, and I wonder what a graphologist would make of them. “I thought I was d’Urberville, not Angel. You decided on the debasement.” Of course, it’s the perfect quote. My smile is ironic. “Trust you to find something that resonates so appropriately.”

“It’s also a plea,” he whispers.

“A plea? For me to go easy on you?”

He nods.

To me these books were an investment, but for him I thought they’d mean something. “I bought these for you.” It’s a small white lie – as I’ve replaced them. “I’ll go easier on you if you accept them.” I keep my voice calm and quiet, masking my disappointment.

“Harry, I can’t accept them, they’re just too much.”

Here we go, another battle of wills.

_Plus ca change, plus c'est la même chose_

“You see, this is what I was talking about, you defying me. I want you to have them, and that’s the end of the discussion. It’s very simple. You don’t have to think about this. As a submissive you would just be grateful for them. You just accept what I buy you because it pleases me for you to do so.”

“I wasn’t a submissive when you bought them for me,” he says quietly.

As ever, he has an answer for everything.

“No…but you’ve agreed, Louis.”

Is he reneging on our deal? God, this boy has me on a roller coaster.

“So, they are mine to with as I wish?”

“Yes.” _I thought you loved Hardy?_

“In that case, I’d like to give them to a charity – one working in Darfur, since that seems to be close to your heart. They can auction them.”

“If that’s what you want to do.” I’m not going to stop you.

_You can burn them, for all I care…_

His face colours. “I’ll think about it,” he mutters.

“Don’t think, Louis. Not about this.”

Keep them, please. They’re for you, because your passion is books. You’ve told me more than once. Enjoy them.

Placing the champagne on the table, I stand in front of him and cup his chin, tipping back his head so my eyes are on his. “I will buy you lots of things, Louis. Get used to it. I can afford it. I’m a very wealthy man.” I kiss him quickly. “Please,” I add, and release him.

“It makes me feel cheap,” he says.

“It shouldn’t. You’re overthinking it. Don’t place some vague moral judgement on yourself based on what others might think. Don’t waste your energy. It’s only because you have reservations about our arrangement; that’s perfectly natural. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

Anxiety is etched all over his lovely face.

“Hey, stop this. There is nothing about you that is cheap, Louis. I won’t have you thinking that. I just sent you some old books that I thought might mean something to you, that’s all.”

He blinks a couple of times and stares at the package, obviously conflicted.

_Keep them, Lou – they’re for you._

“Have some champagne,” I whisper, and he rewards me with a small smile.

“That’s better.” I open the champagne and fill the dainty teacups he’s placed in front of me.

“It’s pink.” He’s surprised, and I haven’t the heart to tell him why I chose the pink.

“Bollinger La Grande Annee Rose 1999 – an excellent vintage.”

“In teacups. Congratulations on your degree, Louis.”

We touch cups, and I drink. It tastes good, as I knew it would.

“Thank you.” He raises the cup to his lips and takes a quick sip. “Shall we go through the soft limits?”

“Always so eager.” Taking his hand, I lead him to the sofa – one of the only remaining in the living room – and we sit, surrounded by boxes.

“Your stepfather’s a very taciturn man.”

“You managed to get him eating out of your hand.”

I chuckle. “Only because I know how to fish.”

“How did you know he like fishing?”

“You told me. When we went for coffee.”

“Oh, did I?” He takes another sip and closes his eyes, savouring the taste. Opening them again, he asks. “Did you try the wine at the reception?”

“Yes. It was foul.” I grimace.

“I thought of you when I tasted it. How did you get to be so knowledgeable about wine?”

“I’m not knowledgeable, Louis, I just know what I like.” And I like you. “Some more?” I nod toward the bottle on the table.

“Please.”

I fetch the champagne and refill his cup. He regards me suspiciously. He knows I’m playing him with alcohol.

“This place looks pretty bare. Are you ready for the move?” I ask, to distract him.

“More or less.”

“Are you working tomorrow?”

“Yes, my last day at Clayton’s.”

“I’d help you move, but I promised to meet my sister at the airport. Gemma arrives from Paris early on Saturday. I’m heading back to Seattle tomorrow, but I hear Liam is giving you two a hand.”

“Yes, Zayn is very excited about that.”

I’m surprised Liam is still interested in Louis’ friend; it’s not his usual MO. “Yes, Zayn and Liam, who would have thought?” Their liaison makes matters complicated. My mother’s voice rings in my head: _“You could bring Louis.”_

“So, what are you doing about work in Seattle?” I ask.

“I have a couple of interviews for intern places.”

“You were going to tell me this when?”

“Um…I’m telling you now,” he says.

“Where?” I ask, hiding my frustration.

“A couple of publishing houses.”

“Is that what you want to do, something in publishing?”

He nods, but he’s still not forthcoming.

“Well?” I prompt.

“Well, what?”

“Don’t be obtuse, Louis. Which publishing houses?” I mentally run through all the publishing houses I know of in Seattle. There are four…I think.

“Just small ones,” he says evasively.

“Why don’t you want me to know?”

“Undue influence,” he says.

_What does that mean?_ I frown.

“Oh, now _you’re_ being obtuse,” he says, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

“Obtuse?” I laugh. “Me? God, you’re challenging. Drink up, let’s talk about these limits.”

His eyelashes flutter as he takes a shaky breath, then drains his cup. He’s really nervous about this. I offer more liquid courage.

“Please,” he responds.

Bottle in hand, I pause. “Have you eaten anything?”

“Yes. I had a three-course meal with Mark,” he says, exasperated, and rolls his eyes.

_Oh, Louis. At last I can do something about this disrespectful habit._

Leaning forward, I take hold of his chin and glare at him. “Next time you roll your eyes at me, I will take you across my knee.”

“Oh.” He looks a little shocked, but a little intrigued, too.

“Oh. So it begins, Louis.” With a wolfish grin I fill his teacup, and he takes a long sip.

“Got your attention now, haven’t I?”

He nods.

“Answer me.”

“Yes, you’ve got my attention,” he says with a contrite smile.

“Good.” I fish out his e-mail, and Appendix 3 of my contract, from my side jacket. “So, sexual acts. We’ve done most of this.” He shuffles closer to me and we read down the list.

**APPENDIX 3**

Soft Limits

To be discussed and agreed between both parties:

Does the Submissive consent to:

  * Masturbation
  * Cunnilingus
  * Fellatio
  * Swallowing Semen
  * Anal intercourse
  * Anal fisting



“No fisting, you say. Anything else you object to?” I ask.

He swallows. “All the Anal intercourse doesn’t exactly float my boat.”

“I’ll agree to the fisting, but I really like to claim your ass, Louis.” _Again._

He inhales sharply, gazing at me.

“But we’ll wait to do all that on a regular basis.” I can’t help my smirk. “Besides, your ass will need the proper training.”

“Training?” His eyes widen.

“Oh yes. It’ll need careful preparation. I want to make this as pleasurable as possible for you.” I delight in his shocked expression.

“You’ve done this before?” he asks.

“Yes.” _What did he expect?_

“Mrs Robinson?” _Oh._

“Yes.”

Louis frowns and I move on quickly, before he can ask me any more questions about that.

“And…swallowing semen. Well, you get an A in that.” I expect a smile from him, but he’s studying me intently, as if seeing me in a new light. I think he’s still reeling over Mrs Robinson and anal intercourse. _Oh, baby_ , Nick had my submission. He could do with me as he pleased. And I enjoyed it.

“So, swallowing semen okay?” I ask, trying to bring him back to the now. He nods and finishes his champagne.

“More?” I ask.

_Steady, Styles, you just want him tipsy, not drunk._

“More,” he whispers.

I refill his cup and get back to the list.

“Sex toys?”

Does the Submissive consent to the use of:

  * Vibrators
  * Butt Plugs
  * Dildos
  * Other anal toys



“Butt plug? Does it do what it says on the box?” He grimaces.

“Yes. And I refer to anal intercourse above. Training.”

“Oh. What’s in the ‘other’?”

“Beads, eggs, that sort of stuff.”

“Eggs?” His hand shoots to his mouth in shock.

“Not real eggs.” I laugh.

“I’m glad you find me funny.” The hurt in his voice is sobering.

“I apologise. I’m sorry.”

_For fuck’s sake, Styles. Go easy on him._

“Any problems with toys?”

“No,” he snaps.

_Shit. He’s still sulking._

“Louis, I am sorry. Believe me. I don’t mean to laugh. I’ve never had this conversation in so much detail. You’re just so inexperienced. I’m sorry.”

He pouts and takes another sip of champagne.

“Right – bondage,” I say, and we return to the list.

Does the Submissive consent to:

  * Bondage with rope
  * Bondage with leather cuffs
  * Bondage with handcuffs/shackles/manacles
  * Bondage with tape
  * Bondage with other



“Well?” I ask, gently this time.

“Fine,” he whispers and continues reading.

Does the Submissive consent to be restrained with:

  * Hand bound in front
  * Ankles bound
  * Elbows bound
  * Hands bound behind back
  * Knees bound
  * Wrists bound to ankles
  * Binding to fixed items, furniture, etc.
  * Binding with spreader bar
  * Suspension



Does the Submissive consent to be blindfolded?

Does the Submissive consent to be gagged?

“We’ve talked about suspension. And it’s fine if you want to set that up as a hard limit. It takes a great deal of time, and I only have you for short periods anyway. Anything else?”

“Don’t laugh at me, bit what’s a spreader bar?”

“I promise not to laugh. I’ve apologised twice.” _For Christ’s sake._ “Don’t make me do it again.” My voice is sharper than I intended, and he leans away from me.

_Shit._

_Ignore his reaction, Styles. Get on with it._

“A spreader is a bar with cuffs for ankles and/or wrists. They’re fun.”

“Okay. Well, gagging me. I’d be worried I wouldn’t be able to breathe.”

“ _I’d_ be worried if you couldn’t breathe. I don’t want to suffocate you.” Breath play is not my scene at all.

“And how will I use safe words if I’m gagged?” he inquires.

“First of all, I hope you never have to use them. But if you’re gaged, we’ll use hand signals.”

“I’m nervous about the gagging.”

“Okay. I’ll take note.”

He studies me for a moment as if he’s solved the riddle of the sphinx. “Do you like tying your submissive’s up so they can’t touch you?” he asks.

“That’s one of the reasons.”

“Is that why you’ve tied my hands?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t like talking about that,” he says.

“No, I don’t.”

_I’m not going there with you, Lou. Give it up._

“Would you like another drink?” I ask. “It’s making you brave, and I need to know how you feel about pain.” I refill his cup and he takes a sip, wide-eyed and anxious. “So, what’s your general attitude to receiving pain?”

He remains mute.

I suppress a sigh. “You’re biting your lip.” Fortunately, he stops, but now he’s pensive and staring down at his hands.

“Were you physically punished as a child?” I prompt him gently.

“No.”

“So you have no sphere of reference at all?”

“No.”

“It’s not as bad ad you think. Your imagination is your worst enemy in this.” _Trust me on this, Lou. Please._

“Do you have to do it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

_You really don’t want to know._

“Goes with the territory, Louis. It’s what I do. I can see you’re nervous. Let’s go through methods.”

We read though the list:

  * Spanking
  * Whipping
  * Biting
  * Genital Clamps
  * Hot wax
  * Paddling
  * Caning
  * Nipple clamps
  * Ice
  * Other types/methods of pain



“Well, you said no to the genital clamps. That’s fine. It’s caning that hurts the most.”

Louis pales.

“We can work up to that,” I state quickly.

“Or not to do it at all,” he counters.

“This is part of the deal, baby, but we’ll work up to all of this. Louis, I won’t push you too far.”

“This punishment thing, it worries me the most.”

“Well, I’m glad you’ve told me. We’ll keep caning off the list for now. And as you get more comfortable with everything else, we’ll increase intensity. We’ll take it slow.”

He looks uncertain, so I lean forward and kiss him. “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

He shrugs, still doubtful.

“Look, I want to talk about one more thing, then I’m taking you to bed.”

“Bed?” he exclaims and colour flushes his cheeks.

“Come on, Louis, talking through all this, I want to fuck you into next week, right now. It must be having some effect on you, too.”

He squirms beside me and takes a husky breath, his thighs pressing together.

“See? Besides, there’s something I want to try.”

“Something painful?”

“No – stop seeing pain everywhere. It’s mainly pleasure. Have I hurt you yet?”

“No.”

“Well, then. Look, earlier today you were talking about wanting more.” I stop.

_Fuck. I’m on a precipice._

_Okay, Styles, are you sure about this?_

_I have to try. I don’t want to lose him before we start._

_Jump._

I take his hand. “Outside of the time you’re my sub, perhaps we could try. I don’t know if it’ll work. I don’t know about separating everything. It may not work. But I’m willing to try. Maybe one night a week. I don’t know.”

His mouth drops open.

“I have one condition.”

“What?” he asks, his breath hitching.

“You graciously accept my graduation present to you.”

“Oh,” he says, his eyes widening with uncertainty.

“Come.” I pull him to his feet, slip off my leather jacket, and drape it over his shoulders. Taking a deep breath, I open the front door and reveal the Audi A3 parked at the curb. “It’s for you. Happy graduation.” I wrap my arms around him and kiss his hair.

When I release him, he stares dumbfounded at the car.

_Okay…this could go either way._

Taking his hand, I lead him down the steps and he follows as if in a trance.

“Louis, that Beetle of yours is old and, frankly, dangerous. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you when it’s so easy for me to make it right.”

He gapes at the car, speechless.

_Shit._

“I mentioned it to your stepfather. He was all for it.”

_Perhaps, I’m overstating this._

His mouth is still open in dismay when he turns to glare at me.

“You mentioned this to Mark? How _could_ you?” He’s annoyed, really annoyed.

“It’s a gift, Louis. Can’t you just say thank you?”

“But you know it’s too much.”

“Not to me it isn’t, not for my peace of mind.”

_Come on, Louis. You want more. This is the price._

His shoulders sag, and he turns to me, resigned, I think. Not quite the reaction I was hoping for. The rosy glow from the champagne has disappeared and his face is pale once more. “I’m happy for you to loan this to me, like the laptop.”

I shake my head. Why is he so difficult? I’ve never had this reaction to a car from any of my submissive’s. They’re usually delighted.

“Okay. On loan. Indefinitely,” I agree through gritted teeth.

“No, not indefinitely, but for now. Thank you,” he says quietly, and leaning up, he kisses me on the cheek. “Thank you for the car, Sir.”

That word. From his sweet, sweet mouth. I grab and press his body to mine, his hair pooling in my fingers. “You are one challenging man, Lou Tomlinson.” I kiss him forcefully, coaxing his lips apart with my tongue, and a moment later he’s responding, matching my ardour, his tongue caressing mine. My body reacts – I want him. Here. Now. In the open. “It’s taking all my self-control not to fuck you on the hood of this car right now, just to show you that you are mine, and if I want to buy you a fucking car, I’ll buy you a fucking car. Now let’s get you inside and naked,” I growl. Then I kiss him once more, demanding and possessive. Taking his hand, I stride back into the apartment, slamming the front door behind us and heading straight for his bedroom. There I release him and switch on his bedside light.

“Please don’t be angry with me,” he whispers.

His words douse the fire of my anger.

“I’m sorry about the car and the books – “He halts and licks his lips. “You scare me when you’re angry.”

_Shit._ No one has ever said that to me before. I close my eyes. The last thing I want to do is frighten him.

_Calm down, Styles._

_He’s here. He’s safe. He’s willing. Don’t blow it, just because he doesn’t understand_ _how to behave._

Opening my eyes, I find Louis watching me, not in fear, but with anticipation.

“Turn around,” I demand, my voice soft. “I want to get you out of those clothes.”

He obeys immediately.

_Good boy._

I remove my jacket from his shoulders and discard it on the floor, then run my finger through his soft hair. Now that he’s doing what he’s told, I relax.

With the tip of my finger I follow the line of his spine over the light polo to his hips, and lift his top up and over his head, revealing his perfect pink skin. Hooking my finger into the back of his slacks, I pull him close so he’s flush against me. He’s warm.

I bury my face in his hair and breathe in his scent.

“You smell so good, Louis. So sweet.”

Like fall.

His fragrance is comforting, reminding me of a time of plenty and happiness. Still inhaling his delicious scent, I skim my nose from his ear down his neck to his bare shoulder, kissing him as I go. Slowly I kiss, and lick, and suck my way across his skin to his other shoulder.

He shivers beneath my touch.

_Oh, baby._ “You are going to have to learn to keep still,” I whisper between kisses.

I spin him around, never untucking my fingers from the waistband of his trousers, and make quick work of unbuttoning and unzipping him from them. They fall to his feet.

Reaching forward, I cup his chest and feel his nipples pebble against my palm.

“Lift your arms and put them around my head,” I order, my lips brushing his neck. He does as he’s told and his chest pushes farther into my palms. He twists his fingers into my hair, the way I like, and he tugs.

_Ah…That feels so good._

His head lolls to the side, and I take advantage, kissing him where his pulse hammers beneath his skin.

“Mmm…” I murmur in appreciation, my fingers teasing and tugging at his nipples.

He groans, arching his back, pushing his perfect chest even farther into my hands.

“Shall I make you come this way?”

His body bows a little more.

“You like this, don’t you, Mr Tomlinson?”

“Mmm…”

“Tell me,” I insist, continuing my sensual assault on his nipples.

“Yes,” he breathes.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes…Sir.”

“Good boy.”

Gently I pinch and twist with my fingers and his body bucks convulsively against me while he moans, his hands tugging harder at my hair.

“I don’t think you’re ready to come yet.” And I still my hands, just holding his chest, while my teeth tug at his earlobe. “Besides, you have displeased me. So perhaps I won’t let you come after all.”

My fingers return my attention to his nipples, twisting and tugging. He groans and grinds his ass against my erection. Shifting my hands to his hips, I hold him steady and glance down at his underwear.

Cotton. White. Easy.

I hook my fingers into them and stretch them as far as they’ll go, then push my thumbs through the seam at the back. They tear apart in my hands and I throw them at Lou’s feet.

He gasps.

I trace my fingers around his ass and insert a finger into his waiting hole. Another gasp escapes his lips.

I groan and close my eyes to take him in.

He’s tight. _Very tight._

“Oh yes. My sweet boy is ready.”

I spin him round and slip my finger into my mouth.

_Mmm. Louis._ “You taste so fine, Mr Tomlinson.”

His lips part and his eyes darken with want. I think he’s a little shocked.

“Undress me.” I keep my eyes on his.

He tilts his head, processing my command, but hesitates. “You can do it,” I encourage him. He lifts his hands and all of a sudden, I think he’s going to touch me, and I’m not ready. _Shit._

Instinctively I grab his hands.

“Oh no. Not the T-shirt.”

I want him on top. We’ve not done this yet, and he may lose his balance, so I’ll need the T-shirt for protection. “You may need to touch me for what I have planned.” I release one of his hands, but the other I place over my erection, which is fighting for space in my jeans.

“This is the effect you have one me, Mr Tomlinson.”

He inhales, gazing at his hand. Then his fingers tighten around my cock and he glances up at me with appreciation.

I grin. “I want to be inside you. Take my jeans off. You’re in charge.”

His mouth drops open.

“What are you going to do with me?” My voice is husky.

His face transforms, bright with delight, and before I can react, he pushes me. I laugh as I fall onto the bed, mainly at his bravado, but also because he touched me and I didn’t panic. He removes my shoes, then my socks, but he’s all fingers and thumbs, reminding me of the interview and his attempts to set up the recorder.

I watch him. Amused. Aroused. Wondering what he’ll do next. It’s going to be one hell of a task for him to remove my jeans while I’m lying down. Stepping out of his shoes, he crawls up the bed, sits astride the top of my thighs, and slips his fingers between the waistband of my jeans. I can feel him hard against me.

I close my eyes and flex my hips, enjoying shameless Lou.

“You’ll have to learn how to keep still,” he castigates me, and tugs at my pubic hair.

_Ah! So bold, Sir._

“Yes, Mr Tomlinson,” I tease through clenched teeth. “In my pocket, condom.”

His eyes flash with obvious delight and his fingers rifle through my pocket, diving deep, brushing my erection.

_Ah…_

He produces both foil packets and tosses them onto the bed beside me. His fumbling fingers reach for the button on my waistband, and after two attempts he undoes it.

His naivete is captivating. It’s obvious that he’s never done this before. Another first…and it’s fucking arousing.

“So eager, Mr Tomlinson,” I tease.

He yanks down my zipper and, pulling at my waistband, gives me a look of frustration.

I try hard not to laugh.

_Yeah, baby, how are you going to get these off me now?_

Shuffling down my legs, he tugs at my jeans, concentrating hard, looking adorable. And I decide to help him out. “I can’t keep still if you’re going to bite that lip,” I say while arching my hips, lifting them off the bed.

Rising up on his knees, he pulls down my jeans and boxers and I kick them off, onto the floor. He sits across me, eyeing my cock and licking his lips.

_Whoa._

He looks hot, his dark hair falling in front of his beautiful blue eyes.

“No what are you going to do?” I whisper. His eyes flick to my face and he reaches up and grasps me firmly, squeezing hard, his thumb brushing over the tip.

_Jesus._

He leans down.

And I’m in his mouth.

_Fuck._

He sucks hard. And my body flexes beneath him. “Jeez, Lou, steady,” I hiss through my teeth. But he shows no mercy as he fellates me again and again. _Fuck._ His enthusiasm is disarming. His tongue is up and down, I’m in and out of his mouth to the back of his throat, his lips tight around me. It’s an overwhelming erotic vision. I could come just watching him.

“Stop, Lou, stop. I don’t want to come.”

He sits up, his mouth moist and his eyes two dark pools directed at me.

“Your innocence and enthusiasm are very disarming.” _But right now, I want to fuck you so I can see you._ “You, on top, that’s what we need to do. Here, put this on.” I place a condom in his hand. He examines it with consternation, the rips the packet open with his teeth.

He’s keen.

He removes the condom and looks to me for direction. “Pinch the top and then roll it down. You don’t want any air in the end of that sucker.”

He nods and does exactly that, absorbed in his task, concentrating hard, his tongue peeking between his lips.

“Christ, you’re killing me here,” I exclaim through clenched teeth.

When he’s done, he sits back and admires his handiwork, or me – I’m not quite sure, but I don’t care. “Now. I want to be buried inside you.” I sit up suddenly so we’re face-to-face, surprising him. “Like this,” I whisper, and, wrapping my arm around him, I lift him. With my other hand I position my cock and lower him slowly onto me.

“My breath escapes from my body as his eyes close and pleasure thrums noisily in his throat.

“That’s right, baby, feel me, all of me.”

_He. Feels. So. Good._

I hold him, letting him get used to the feel of me. Like this. Inside him, “It’s deep this way.” My voice is hoarse, as I flex and tilt my pelvis, pushing deeper into him.

His head lolls as he moans. “Again,” he breathes. And he opens his eyes and they blaze into mine. Wanton. Willing. I love that he loves this. I do as I’m asked and he moans again, throwing back his head, his hair tumbling around in a riot. Slowly I recline onto the bed to watch the show.

“You move, Louis, up and down, how you want. Take my hands.” I hold them out and he grabs them, steadying himself on top of me. Slowly he ceases himself up, then sinks back down onto me.

My breath is coming in short, sharp pants as I restrain myself. He lifts himself again and this time I raise my hips to meet his as he comes down.

_Oh yes._

Closing my eyes, I savour every delicious inch of him. Together we find our rhythm as he rides me. Over and over and over. He looks fantastic: his body bouncing, his hair swinging, his mouth slack as he absorbs each stab of pleasure.

His eyes meet mine, full of carnal need and wonder. God, he’s beautiful.

He cries out as his body takes over. He’s almost there, so I tighten my grip on his hands, and he ignites around me. I grab his hips, holding him as he shouts incoherently through his orgasm. Then I tighten my hold on his hips and silently lose myself as I explode inside him.

He flops down onto my chest, and I lie, panting, beneath him.

_My God, he’s a good fuck._

We lie together for a moment, his weight a comfort. He stirs and nuzzles me through my shirt, then splays his hand on top of my chest.

The darkness slithers, quick and strong, into my chest, into my throat, threatening to suffocate and choke me.

_No. Don’t touch me._

I grab his hand and bring his knuckles to my lips, and roll over on top of him so he’s no longer able to touch me.

“Don’t,” I plead, and kiss his lips as I dampen down my fear.

“Why don’t you like to be touched?”

“Because I’m fifty shades of fucked up, Louis.” After years and years of therapy, it’s the one thing I know to be true.

His eyes widen, inquisitive; he’s thirsty for more information. But he doesn’t need to know this shit. “I had a very tough introduction to life. I don’t want to burden you with the details. Just don’t.” I gently brush my nose against his and, withdrawing from him, I sit up and remove the condom and drop it by the bed. “I think that’s all the very basics covered. How was that?”

For a moment he seems distracted, then he tilts his head to one side and smiles. “If you imagine for one minute that I think you ceded control to me, well, you haven’t taken into account me GPA. But thank you for the illusion.”

“Mr Tomlinson, you are not just a pretty face. You’ve had six orgasms so far and all of them belong to me.” Why does that mere fact make me glad?

His eyes stray to the ceiling, and a fleeting guilty expression crosses his face.

_What’s this?_ “Do you have something to tell me?” I ask.

He hesitates. “I had a dream this morning.”

“Oh?”

“I came in my sleep.” He flings his arm over his face, hiding from me, embarrassed. I’m stunned by his confession but aroused and delighted, too.

_Sensual creature._

He peeks over his arm. Does he expect me to be angry?

“In your sleep?” I clarify.

“Woke me up,” he whispers.

“I’m sure it did.” I’m fascinated. “What were you dreaming about?”

“You,” he says in a small voice.

_Me!_

“What was I doing?”

He hides beneath his arm again.

“Louis, what was I doing? I won’t ask you again.” Why is he so embarrassed? His dreaming about me is…endearing.

“You had a riding crop,” he mumbles. I move his arm so I can see his face.

“Really?”

“Yes.” His face is bright red. The research must be affecting him, in a good way. I smile down at him.

“There’s hope for you yet. I have several riding crops.”

“Brown plaited leather?” His voice is tinged with quiet optimism.

I laugh. “No, but I’m sure I could get one.”

I give him a swift kiss and stand to dress. Lou does the same, pulling on sweatpants and a camisole. Collecting the condom off the floor, I knot it quickly. Now that he’s agreed to be mine, he needs contraception. Fully dressed, he sits cross-legged on the bed watching me as I grab my pants. “When is your next cycle?” I ask. “I hate wearing these things.” I hold up the knotted condom and pull on my jeans.

He’s taken aback.

_Embarrassed? Why?_

“Well?” I prod.

“Next week,” he answers, his cheeks pink.

“You need to sort out some contraception.”

I sit on the bed to slip on my sock and shoes. He says nothing.

“Do you have a doctor?” I ask. He shakes his head. “I can have mine come and see you at your apartment – Sunday morning, before you come and see me. Or he can see you at my place. Which would you prefer?”

I’m sure Dr. Baxter will make a house call for me, although I haven’t seen him for a while.

“Your place,” he says.

“Okay. I’ll let you know the time.”

“Are you leaving?”

He seems surprised that I’m going. “Yes.”

“How are you getting back?” he asks.

“Taylor will pick me up.”

“I can drive you. I have a lovely new car.”

That’s better. He’s accepted the car as he should, but after all that champagne, he shouldn’t be driving. “I think you’ve had too much to drink.”

“Did you get me tipsy on purpose?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you overthink everything, and you’re reticent, like your stepdad. A drop of wine in you and you start talking, and I need you to communicate honestly with me. Otherwise you clam up, and I have no idea what you’re thinking. In vino veritas, Louis.”

“And you think you’re always honest with me?”

“I endeavour to be. This will only work if we’re honest with each other.”

“I’d like you to stay and use this.” He grabs the other condom and waves it at me.

_Manage his expectations, Styles._

“I have crossed so many lines here tonight. I have to go. I’ll see you on Sunday.” I stand up. “I’ll have the revised contract ready for you, and then we can really start to play.”

“Play?” he squeaks.

“I’d like to do a scene with you. But I won’t until you’ve signed, so I know you’re ready.”

“Oh. So I could stretch this out if I don’t sign?”

_Shit. I hadn’t thought of that._

His chin tilts up in defiance.

_Ah…topping from the bottom, again._ He always finds a way.

“Well, I suppose you could, but I may crack under the strain.”

“Crack? How?” he queries, his eyes alive with curiosity.

“Could get really ugly,” I tease, narrowing my eyes.

“Ugly, how?” His grin matches mine.

“Oh, you know, explosions, car chases, kidnapping, incarceration.”

“You’d kidnap me?”

“Oh yes.”

“Hold me against my will?”

“Oh yes.” _Now, that’s an interesting idea._ “And then we’re talking TPE twenty-four-seven.”

“You’ve lost me,” he says, perplexed and a little breathless.

“Total Power Exchange – around the clock.” My mind whirls as I think of the possibilities. He’s curious. “So you have a choice,” I add, with a playful tone.

“Clearly.” His tone is sarcastic and he rolls his eyes to the heavens. Perhaps looking for divine inspiration to understand my sense of humour.

_Oh, sweet joy._

“Louis Tomlinson, did you just roll your eyes at me?”

“No!”

“I think you did. What did I say I’d do to you if you rolled your eyes at me again?” My words hang between us and I sit down again on the bed. “Come here.”

For a moment he stares at me, blanching. “I haven’t signed,” he whispers.

“I told you what I’d do. I’m a man of my word. I’m going to spank you, and then fuck you very quick and very hard. Looks like we’ll need that condom after all.”

Will he? Won’t he? This is it. Proof of whether he can do this or not. I watch him, impassive, waiting for him to decide. If he says no, it means he’s paying lip service to the idea of being my submissive.

And that will be it.

_Make the right choice, Lou._

His expression is grave, his eyes wide, and I think he’s weighing up his decision.

“I’m waiting,” I murmur. “I’m not a patient man.”

Taking a deep breath, he unfurls his legs and crawls toward me, and I hide my relief.

“Good boy, now stand up.”

He does as he’s told, and I offer him my hand. He lays the condom on my palm, and I grasp his hand and abruptly pull him over my left knee, so that his head, shoulders, and chest are resting on the bed. I drape my right leg over his legs, holding him in place. I’ve wanted to do this since he asked me if I was gay. “Put your hands up on either side of your head,” I order and he complied immediately. “Why am I doing this, Louis?”

“Because I rolled my eyes at you,” he says in a hoarse whisper.

“Do you think that’s polite?”

“No.”

“Will you do it again?”

“No.”

“I will spank you each time you do it, do you understand?”

I’m going to savour this moment. It’s another first.

With great care – relishing in the deed – I tug down his sweatpants. His beautiful behind is naked and ready for me. As I place my hand on his backside, he tenses every muscle in his body…waiting. His skin is soft to the touch and I sweep my palm across both cheeks, fondling each. He has a fine, fine ass. And I’m going to make it pink…like champagne.

Lifting my palm, I smack him, hard, just above the junction of his thighs.

He gasps and tries to rise, but I hold him down with my other hand at the small of his back, and I soothe the area I’ve just hit with a slow, gentle caress.

He stays still.

Panting.

Anticipating.

_Yes, I’m going to do that again._

I smack him once, twice, three times.

He grimaces at the pain, his eyes screwed shut. But he doesn’t ask me to stop even though he’s squirming beneath me.

“Keep still, or I’ll spank you for longer,” I warn.

I rub his sweet flesh and start again, taking turns: left cheek, right cheek, middle.

He cries out. But he doesn’t move his arms, and he still doesn’t ask me to stop.

“I’m just getting warmed up.” My voice is husky. I smack him again, and trace the pink handprint I’ve left on his skin. His ass is pinking up nicely. It looks glorious.

I smack him once more.

And he cries out again.

“No one to hear you, baby, just me.”

I spank him over and over – the same pattern, left cheek, right cheek, middle – and he yelps each time. When I reach eighteen, I stop. I’m breathless, my palm is stinging, and my cock is rigid.

“Enough,” I rasp, trying to catch my breath. “Well done, Louis. Now I’m going to fuck you.”

I stroke his pink behind gently, round and round, moving down. He’s hard.

And my own body gets harder.

I insert two fingers into his hole.

“Feel this. See how much your body likes this. You’re hard and ready, just for me.” I slide my fingers in and out, and he groans, his body curling around them with each push and his breathing accelerating.

I withdraw them.

I want him. Now.

“Next time, I will get you to count. Now, where’s that condom?” Grabbing it from beside his head, I ease him gently off my lap and onto the bed, facedown. Unzipping my fly, I don’t bother to remove my jeans, and I make short work of the foil packet, rolling the condom on quickly and efficiently. I lift his hips until he’s kneeling and his ass in all its rosy glory is poised in the air as I stand behind him.

“I’m going to take you now. You can come,” I growl, caressing his behind and grabbing my cock. With one swift thrust I’m inside him.

He moans as I move. In. Out. In. Out. I pound into him, watching my cock disappear beneath his pink backside.

His mouth is open wide and he grunts and groans with each thrust, his cries getting higher and higher.

_Come on, Lou._

He clenches around me and cries out as he comes, hard.

“Oh, Lou!” I follow him over the edge as I climax into him and lose all time and perspective.

I collapse at his side, pull him on top of me, and, wrapping my arms around him, I whisper into his hair, “Oh, baby, welcome to my world.”

His weight anchors me, and he makes no attempt to touch my chest. His eyes are closed and his breathing is returning to normal. I stroke his hair. It’s soft, a rich mahogany, shining in the glow of his bedside light. He smells of Lou and apples and sex. It’s heady. “Well done, baby.”

He’s not in tears. He did as he was asked. He’s faced every challenge I’ve thrown at him; he really is quite remarkable. I finger the sleeve of his cheap cotton top. “Is this what you sleep in?”

“Yes.” He sounds drowsy.

“You should be in silks and satins, you beautiful boy. I’ll take you shopping.”

“I like my sweats,” he argues.

Of course he does.

I kiss his hair. “We’ll see.”

Closing my eyes, I relax in our quiet moment, a strange contentment warming me, filling me up inside.

This feels right. _Too right._

“I have to go,” I murmur, and kiss his forehead. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” he says, sounding a little subdued.

Gently I roll out from underneath him and get up. “Where’s your bathroom?” I ask, taking off the used condom and zipping up my jeans.

“Down the hall to the left.”

In the bathroom I discard the condoms in a trash bin and spy a bottle of baby oil on the shelf.

That’s what I need.

He’s dressed when I return, evading my gaze. _Why so shy suddenly?_

“I found some baby oil. Let me rub it into your behind.”

“No. I’ll be fine,” he says, examining his fingers, still avoiding eye contact.

“Louis,” I warn him.

_Please just do as you’re told._

I sit down behind him and tug down his sweatpants. Squirting some baby oil on my hand, I rub it tenderly into his sore ass.

He puts his hands on his hips in an obstinate stance, but stays silent.

“I like my hands on you,” I admit out loud to myself. “There.” I pull his sweatpants up. “I’m leaving now.”

“I’ll see you out,” he says quietly, standing aside. I take his hand and reluctantly let go when we reach the front door. Part of me doesn’t want to leave.

“Don’t you have to call Taylor?” he asks, his eyes fixed on the zipper of my leather jacket.

“Taylor’s been here since nine. Look at me.”

Large blue eyes peek up at me through long, dark lashes.

“You didn’t cry.” My voice is low.

_And you let me spank you. You’re amazing._

I grab and kiss him, pouring my gratitude into the kiss and holding him close. “Sunday,” I whisper, fevered, against his lips. I release him abruptly before I’m tempted to ask him if I can stay, and I head out to where Taylor is waiting in the SUV. Once I’m in the car I look back, but he’s gone. He’s probably tired…like me.

_Pleasantly tired._

That has to have been the most pleasurable “soft limits” conversation I’ve ever head.

_Damn, that man is unexpected._ Closing my eyes, I see him riding me, his head tipped back in ecstasy. Lou does not do things half-heartedly. He commits. And to think he had sex for the first time only a week ago.

_With me. No one else._

I grin as I stare out the window, but all I see is my ghostly face reflected in the glass. So I close my eyes and allow myself to daydream.

Training him will be fun.

TAYLOR wakes me from my doze. “We’re here, Mr. Styles.”

“Thank you,” I mumble. “I have a meeting in the morning.”

“At the hotel?”

“Yes. Videoconference. I won’t need to be driven anywhere. But I’d like to leave before lunch.”

“What time would you like me to pack?”

“Ten thirty.”

“Very good, sir. The Blackberry you asked for will be delivered to Mr Tomlinson tomorrow.”

“Good. That reminds me. Can you collect his old Beetle tomorrow and dispose of it? I don’t want him driving it.”

“Of course. I have a friend who restores vintage cars. He might be interested. I’ll deal with it. Will there be anything else?”

“No thank you. Good night.”

“Good night.”

I leave Taylor to park the SUV and make my way up to my suite.

Opening a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge, I sit down at the desk and switch on my laptop.

No urgent e-mails.

But my real purpose is to say good night to Lou.

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** You

**Date:** May 26, 2011 23:14

**To:** Louis Tomlinson

Dear Mr. Tomlinson,

You are quite simply exquisite. The most beautiful, intelligent, witty, and brave man I have ever met. Take some Advil – this is not a request. And don’t drive your Beetle again. I will know

Harry Styles,

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

He’ll probably be asleep, but I keep my laptop open just in case and check e-mail. A few minutes later his response arrives.

**From:** Louis Tomlinson

**Subject:** Flattery

**Date:** May 26, 2011 23:20

**To:** Harry Styles

Dear Mr. Styles,

Flattery will get you nowhere, but since you’ve been _everywhere_ , the point is moot.

I will need to drive my Beetle to a garage so I can sell it – so will not graciously accept any of your nonsense over that. Red wine is always more preferable to Advil.

Lou

P.S.: Caning is a HARD limit for me.

His opening line makes me laugh out loud. _Oh, baby, I have not been everywhere I want to go with you._ Red wine in top of champagne? Not a clever mix, and caning is off the list. I wonder what else he’ll object to as I compose my reply.

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** Frustrating men who can’t take compliments

**Date:** May 26, 2011 23:26

**To:** Louis Tomlinson

Dear Mr. Tomlinson,

I am not flattering you. You should go to bed.

I accept your addition to the hard limits.

Don’t drink too much.

Taylor will dispose of your car and get a good price for it, too.

Harry Styles,

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I hope he’s in bed now.

**From:** Louis Tomlinson

**Subject:** Taylor – Is he the right man for the job?

**Date:** May 26, 2011 23:40

**To:** Harry Styles

Dear Sir,

I am intrigued that you are happy to risk letting your right-hand man drive my car but not some man you fuck occasionally. How can I be sure that Taylor is the man to get me the best deal for said car? I have, in the past, probably before I met you, been known to drive a hard bargain.

Lou

_What the hell? Some man I fuck occasionally?_

I have to take a deep breath. His response irks me…no, infuriates me. How _dare_ he talk about himself like that? As my submissive he’ll be more than that.

I’ll be devoted to him. Does he not realise this?

And he has driven a hard bargain with me. _Good God!_ Look at all the concessions I’ve made with regard to the contract.

I count to ten, and to calm down, I visualise myself abroad The Grace, my catamaran, sailing on the Sound.

Flynn would be proud.

I respond.

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** Careful!

**Date:** May 26, 2011 23:44

**To:** Louis Tomlinson

Dear Mr. Tomlinson,

I am assuming it is the RED WINE talking, and that you’ve had a very long day.

Though I am tempted to drive back over there to ensure that you don’t sit down for a week, rather than an evening.

Taylor is ex-army and capable of driving anything from a motorcycle to a Sherman tank. Your car does not present a hazard to him.

Now please do not refer to yourself as “some man I fuck occasionally” because, quite frankly, it makes me MAD, and you really wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.

Harry Styles,

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I exhale slowly, steadying my heart rate. Who else on earth has the ability to get under my skin like this?

He doesn’t write back immediately. Perhaps he’s intimidated by my response. I pick up my book, but soon find that I’ve read the same paragraph three times while I’m awaiting his reply. I look up for the umpteenth time.

**From:** Louis Tomlinson

**Subject:** Careful yourself

**Date:** May 26, 2011 23:57

**To:** Harry Styles

Dear Mr. Styles,

I’m not sure I like you anyway, especially at the moment.

Mr. Tomlinson

I stare at his reply, and all my anger withers and dies, to be replaced by a surge of anxiety.

_Shit._

Is he saying that’s it?

** Thursday, May 26, 2011 **

Mommy is gone. Sometimes she goes outside. And it’s only me. Me and my cars and my blankie.

When she comes home, she sleeps on the couch. The couch is brown and sticky. She is tired. Sometimes I cover her with my blankie.

Or she comes home with something to eat. I like those days. We have bread and butter. And sometimes we have macaroni and cheese. That is my favourite.

Today Mommy is gone. I play with my cars. They go fast on the floor. My Mommy is gone. She will come back. She will. When is Mommy coming home?

It is dark now, and Mommy is gone. I can reach the light when I stand on the stool.

On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. Light. Dark. Light. Dark. Light. Dark.

I’m hungry. I eat the cheese in the fridge. Cheese with blue fur.

When is Mommy coming home?

Sometimes she comes home with him. I hate him. I hide when he comes. My favourite place is in Mommy’s closet. It smells of Mommy when she’s happy.

When is Mommy coming home?

My bed is cold. And I am hungry. I have my blankie and my cars but not my Mommy. When is my Mommy coming home?

I wake with a start.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

I hate my dreams. They’re riddles with harrowing memories, distorted reminders of a time I want to forget. My heart is pounding, and I’m drenched in sweat. But the worst consequence of these nightmares is dealing with the overwhelming anxiety when I wake.

My nightmares have recently become more frequent, and more vivid. I have no idea why. Damned Flynn – he’s not back until some time next week. I run both my hands through my hair and check the time. It’s 5:38, and the dawn light is seeping through the curtains. It’s nearly time to get up.

_Go for a run, Styles._

THERE is still no text or e-mail from Louis. As my feet pound the sidewalk, my anxiety grows.

_Leave it, Styles._

_Just fucking leave it!_

I know I’ll see him at the graduation ceremony.

But I can’t leave it.

Before my shower, I send him another text.

**Call me.**

I just need to know he’s safe.

AFTER breakfast there’s still no word from Louis. To get him out of my head I work for a couple of hours on my commencement speech. At the graduation ceremony later this morning I’ll be honouring the extraordinary work of the environmental sciences department and the progress they’ve made in partnership with GEH in arable technology for developing countries.

_“All part of your feed-the-world plan?”_ Lou’s shrewd words echo in my head, and they nudge at last night’s nightmare.

I shrug off as I rewrite. Sam, my VP for publicity, has sent a draft that is too pretentious for me. It takes me an hour to rework his media-speak bullshit into something more human.

Nine thirty and still no word from Louis. His radio silence is worrying – and frankly rude. I call, but his phone goes straight to a generic voice mail message.

I hang up.

Show some dignity, Styles.

There’s a ping in my inbox, and my heartbeat spikes – but it’s from Gemma. In spite of my bad mood, I smile. I’ve missed that kid.

**From:** Gemma S. Chief Extraordinaire

**Subject:** Flights

**Date:** May 26, 2011 18:32 GMT-1

**To:** Harry Styles

Hey, Harry.

I can’t wait to get out of here!

Rescue me. Please.

My flight number on Saturday is AF3622. It arrives at 12:22 p.m. and Dad is making me fly coach! *Pouting!

I will have lots of luggage. Love. Love. Love Paris fashion.

Mom says you have a boyfriend?

Is this true?

What’s he like?

I NEED TO KNOW!!!!!

See you Saturday. Missed you so much,

A bientôt mon frère.

G xxxxxxx

_Oh hell!_ My mother’s big mouth. Lou is not my boyfriend! And come Saturday I’ll have to fend off my sister’s equally big mouth and her inherent optimism and her prying questions. She can be exhausting. Making a mental note of the flight number and time, I send Gemma a quick e-mail to let her know I’ll be there.

At 9:45 I get ready for the ceremony. Grey suit, white shirt, and of course _that_ tie. It will be my subtle message to Louis that I haven’t given up, and a reminder of good times.

Yeah, real good times…images of him bound and wanting come to mind. _Damn it. Why hasn’t he called?_ I press redial.

_Shit._

Still not fucking answer!

At 10:00 precisely, there’s a knock on my door. It’s Taylor.

“Good morning,” I say, as he comes in.

“Mr. Styles.”

“How was yesterday?”

“Good, sir.” Taylor’s demeanour shifts, and his expression warms. He must be thinking of his daughter.

“Sophie?”

“She’s a doll, sir. And doing very well in school.”

“That’s great to hear.”

“The A3 will be in Portland later this afternoon.”

“Excellent. Let’s go.”

And though I’m loath to admit it, I’m anxious to see Mr Tomlinson.

THE chancellor’s secretary ushers me into a small room adjacent to the WSU auditorium. She blushes, almost as much as a certain young man I know intimately. There, in the greenroom, academics, administrative staff, and a few students are having pre-graduation coffee. Among them, to my surprise, is Zayn Malik.

“Hi, Harry,” he says, strutting toward me with the confidence of the well-heeled. He’s in his graduation gown and appears cheerful enough; surely he’s seen Lou.

“Hi, Zayn. How are you?”

“You seem baffled to see me here,” he says, ignoring my greeting and sounding a little affronted. “I’m valedictorian. Didn’t Liam tell you?”

“No, he didn’t.” _We’re not in each other’s pockets, for Christ’s sakes._ “Congratulations,” I add as a courtesy.

“Thank you.” His tone is clipped.

“Is Lou here?”

“Soon. He’s coming with his dad.”

“You saw him this morning?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I wanted to know if he made it home in that death-trap, he calls a car.”

“Wanda. He calls it Wanda. And yes, he did.” He gazes at me with a quizzical expression.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

At that point the chancellor joins us, and with a polite smile to Malik, escorts me over to meet the other academics.

I’m relieved that Louis is in one piece, but pissed that he hasn’t replied to any of my messages.

It’s not a good sign.

But I don’t have long to dwell on this discouraging state of affairs – one if the faculty members announces it’s time to begin and herds us out into the corridor.

In a moment of weakness, I try Lou’s phone once more. It goes straight to voicemail, and I’m interrupted by Malik. “I’m looking forward to your commencement address,” he says as we walk down the hallway.

When we reach the auditorium, I notice it’s larger than I expected, and packed. The audience, as one, rises and applauds as we file onto the stage. The clapping intensifies, then slowly subsides to an expectant buzz as everyone takes their seats.

Once the chancellor begins his welcome address, I’m able to scan the room. The front rows are filled with students, in identical black-and-red WSU robes. _Where is he?_ Methodically I inspect each row.

_There you are._

I find him huddled in the second row. He’s alive. I feel foolish for expending so much anxiety and energy on his whereabouts last night and this morning. His brilliant blue eyes are wide as they lock with mine, and he shifts in his seat, a slow flush colouring his cheeks.

_Yes. I’ve found you. And you haven’t replied to my messages._ He’s avoiding me and I’m pissed. Really pissed. Closing my eyes, I imagine dripping hot wax onto his chest and him squirming beneath me. This has a radical effect on my body.

_Shit._

_Get it together, Styles._

Dismissing him from my mind, I marshal my lascivious thoughts and concentrate on the speeches.

Malik gives an inspiring address about embracing opportunities – _yes, carpe diem, Zayn_ – and he gets a rousing reception when he’s finished. He’s obviously smart and popular and confident. Not the shy and retiring wallflower that is the lovely Mr Tomlinson. It really amazes me that these two are friends.

I hear my name announced; the chancellor has introduced me. I rise and approach the lectern. _Showtime, Styles._

“I’m profoundly grateful and touched by the great compliment accorded to me by the authorities of WSU today. It offers me a rare opportunity to talk about the impressive work of the environmental sciences department here at the university. Our aim is to develop viable and ecologically sustainable methods of farming for third world countries; our ultimate goal is to help eradicate hunger and poverty across the globe. Over a billion people, mainly in sub-Saharan Africa, South Asia, and Latin America, live in abject poverty. Agricultural dysfunction is rife within these parts of the world, and the result is ecological and social destruction. I have known what it’s like to be profoundly hungry. This is a very personal journey for me.

“As partners, WSU and GEH have made a tremendous progress in soil fertility and arable technology. We are pioneering low-input systems in developing countries, and our test sites have increased crop yields up to thirty percent per hectare. WSU has been instrumental in this fantastic achievement. And GEH is proud of those students who join us through internships to work at our test sites in Africa. The work they do there benefits the local communities and the students themselves. Together we can fight hunger and the abject poverty that blights these regions.

“But in this age of technological evolution, as the first world races ahead, widening the gap between the haves and the have-nots, it’s vital to remember that we must not squander the world’s finite resources. These resources are for all humanity, and we need to harness them, find ways of renewing them, and develop new solutions to feed our overpopulated planet.

“As I’ve said, the work that GEH and WSU are doing together will provide solutions, and it’s our job to get the message out there. It’s through GEH’s telecommunications division that we intend to supply information and education to the developing world. I’m proud to say that we’re making impressive progress in solar technology, battery life, and wireless distribution that will bring the Internet to the remotest parts of the world – and our goal is to make it free to users at the point of delivery. Access to education and information, which we take for granted here, is the crucial component for ending poverty in these developing regions.

“We’re lucky. We’re all privileged here. Some more than others, and I include myself in that category. We have a moral obligation to offer those less fortunate a decent life that’s healthy, secure, and well nourished, with access to more resources that we all enjoy here.

“I’ll leave you with a quote that has always resonated with me. And I’m paraphrasing a Native American saying: ‘Only when the last leaf has fallen, the last tree has died, and the last fish has been caught will we realise that we cannot eat money’.”

As I sit down to a rousing applause, I resist looking at Lou and examine the WSU banner hanging at the back of the auditorium. If he wants to ignore me, fine. Two can play at that game.

The vice chancellor rises to commence handing out the degrees. And so begins the agonising wait until we reach the S’s and I can see him again.

After an eternity I hear his name called: “Louis William Tomlinson.” A ripple of applause, and he’s walking toward me looking pensive and worried.

_Shit._

_What is he thinking?_

_Hold it together, Styles._

“Congratulation, Mr Tomlinson,” I say as I give Lou his degree. We shake hands, but I don’t let his go. “Do you have a problem with your laptop?”

He looks perplexed. “No.”

“Then you _are_ ignoring my e-mails?” I release him.

“I only saw the mergers and acquisitions one.”

_What the hell does that mean?_

His frown deepens, but I have to let him go – there’s a line forming behind him.

“Later.” I let him know that we’re not finished with this conversation as he moves on.

I’m in purgatory by the time we’ve reached the end of the line. I’ve been ogled, and had eyelashes batted at me, silly giggling girls squeezing my hand, and five notes with phone numbers pressed into my palm. I’m relieved as I exit the stage along with the faculty, to the strains of some dreary processional music and applause.

In the corridor I grab Malik’s arm. “I need to speak to Louis. Can you find him? Now.”

Malik is taken aback, but before he can say anything I add, in as polite a tone as I can manage, “Please.”

His lips thin with disapproval, but he waits with me as the academics file past and then he returns to the auditorium. The chancellor stops the congratulate me on my speech.

“It was an honour to be asked,” I respond, shaking his hand once again. Out of the corner of my eye I spy Zayn in the corridor – with Louis at his side. Excusing myself, I stride toward Louis.

“Thank you,” I say to Zayn, who gives Louis a worried glance. Ignoring him, I take Louis’ elbow and lead him through the first door I find. It’s a men’s locker room, and from the fresh smell I can tell it’s empty. Locking the door, I turn to face Mr Tomlinson. “Why haven’t you e-mailed me? Or texted me back?” I demand.

He blinks a couple of times, consternation writ large on his face. “I haven’t looked at my computer today, or my phone.” He seems genuinely bewildered by my outburst. “That was a great speech,” he adds.

“Thank you,” I mutter, derailed. How can he not have checked his phone or e-mail?

“Explains your food issues to me,” he says, his tone gentle – and if I’m not mistaken, pitying, too.

“Louis, I don’t want to go there at the moment.”

_I don’t need your pity._

I close my eyes. All this time I thought he didn’t want to talk to me. “I’ve been worried about you.”

“Worried, why?”

“Because you went home in that death-trap you call a car.”

_And I thought I’d blown the deal between us._

Louis bristles. “What? It’s not a death-trap. It’s fine. Niall regularly services it for me.”

“Niall, the photographer?” This just gets better and fucking better.

“Yes, the Beetle used to belong to his mother.”

“Yes, and probably her mother and her mother before her. It’s not safe.” I’m almost shouting.

“I’ve been driving it for over three years. I’m sorry you were worried. Why didn’t you call?”

I called his cell phone. Does he not use his damned cell phone? Is he talking about the house phone? Running my hand through my hair in exasperation, I take a deep breath. This is not addressing the fucking elephant in the room.

“Louis, I need an answer from you. This waiting around is driving me crazy.”

His face falls.

_Shit._

“Harry, I…look, I’ve left my stepdad on his own.”

“Tomorrow. I want an answer by tomorrow.”

“Okay. Tomorrow, I’ll tell you then,” he says with an anxious look.

_Well, it’s still not a “no”._ And once more, I’m surprised by my relief.

What the hell is it about this boy?

He stares up at me with sincere blue eyes, his face etched with concern, and I resist the urge to touch him. “Are you staying for drinks?” I ask.

“I don’t know what Mark wants to do.” He looks uncertain.

“Your stepfather? I’d like to meet him.”

His uncertainty magnifies. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he says darkly, as I unlock the door.

_What? Why?_ Is this because he now knows I was dirt-poor kid? Or because he knows how I like to fuck? That I’m a freak?

“Are you ashamed of me?”

“No!” he exclaims, and he rolls his eyes in frustration. “Introduce you to my dad as what?” He raises his hands in exasperation. “‘This is the man who deflowered me and wants us to start a BDSM relationship’? You’re not wearing running shoes.”

_Running shoes?_

His dad is going to come after me? And just like that he has injected a little humour between us. My mouth twitches in response and he returns my smile, his face lighting up like a summer dawn.

“Just so you know, I can run quite fast,” I respond playfully. “Just tell him I’m your friend, Louis.” I open the door and follow him out but stop when I reach the chancellor and his colleagues. As one they turn and stare at Mr Tomlinson, but he’s disappearing into the auditorium. They turn back to me.

_Mr Tomlinson and I are none of your business, people._

I give the chancellor a brief, polite nod and he asks if I’ll come and meet more of his colleagues and enjoy some canapes.

“Sure,” I reply.

It takes me thirty minutes to escape from the faculty gathering, and as I make my way out of the crowded reception Malik falls into step beside me. We head to the lawn where the graduates and their families are enjoying a post-graduation drink in a large tented pavilion.

“So, have you asked Louis to dinner on Sunday?” he asks.

_Sunday? Has Louis mentioned that we’re seeing each other on Sunday?_

“At your parents’ house,” Malik explains.

_My parents?_

I spot Lou.

_What the fuck?_

A tall, dark and handsome type guy, who looks as if he’s just walked off the end of a runway stage during fashion week has his hands all over him.

_Who the hell is that? Is this why he didn’t want me to come for a drink?_

Louis looks up, catches my expression, and pales as his roommate stands beside that guy. “Hello, Mark,” Malik says, and he kisses a middle-aged man in an ill-fitting suit standing beside Lou.

This must be Mark Tomlinson.

“Have you met Louis’ boyfriend?” Malik asks him. “Harry Styles.”

_Boyfriend!_

“Mr. Tomlinson, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Mr. Styles,” he says, quietly surprised. We shake hands; his grip is firm, and his fingers and palm are rough to the touch. This man works with his hands. Then I remember – he’s a carpenter. His dark blue eyes give nothing away.

“And this is my brother, Saf Malik,” says Zayn, introducing the Mr. Photogenic who has his arm wrapped around Lou.

_Ah._ The Malik offspring, together.

I mutter his name as we shake hands, noting they are soft, unlike Mark Tomlinson’s.

_Now stop pawing at my boy, you fucker._

“Lou, baby,” I whisper, holding out my hand, and like the good boy he is, he steps into my embrace. He’s discarded his graduation robe and wears a pale grey turtle neck with grey and blue tartan stitched trousers, exposing his ankles and smart shoes. His hair is soft and tousled, but smartly swept to one side.

_He really is spoiling me._

“Saf, Mum and Dada wanted a word.” Malik hauls his brother away, leaving me with Louis and his father.

“So, how long have you kids known each other?” Mr. Tomlinson asks.

As I reach across to grasp Lou’s shoulder, I gently trace my thumb across his back and he trembles in response. I tell him we’ve known each other for a couple of weeks. “We met when Louis came to interview me for the student newspaper.”

“Didn’t know you worked on the student newspaper, Lou,” Mr. Tomlinson says.

“Zayn was ill,” he says.

Mark eyes his son and frowns. “Fine speech you gave, Mr. Styles,” he says.

“Thank you, sir. I understand you are a keen fisherman.”

“Indeed I am. Louis tell you that?”

“He did.”

“You fish?” There’s a spark of curiosity in his blue eyes.

“Not as much as I’d like to. My dad used to take my brother and me when we were kids. For him it was all about the steelheads. Guess I caught the bug from him.” Lou listens for a moment, then excuses himself and moves off through the crowd to join the Malik clan.

_Damn_ , he looks sensational in those trousers.

“Oh? Where’d you fish?” Mark Tomlinson’s question pulls me back into the conversation. I know it’s a test.

“All over the Pacific Northwest.”

“You grew up in Washington?”

“Yes, sir. My dad started us on the Wynoochee River.”

A smile tugs as Mark’s mouth. “Know it well.”

“But his favourite is the Skagit. The U.S side. He’d get us out of bed at some ungodly hour of the morning and we’d drive up there. He’s caught some mighty fine fish in that river.”

“That’s some sweet water. Caught me some rod breakers in the Skagit. On the Canadian side, mind.”

“It’s one of the best stretches for wild steelheads. Give you a much better chase than those that are clipped,” I say, my eyes on Louis.

“Couldn’t agree more.”

“My brother has caught a couple of wild monsters. Me, I’m still waiting for the big one.”

“One day, huh?”

“I hope so.”

Lou is deep in a passionate discussion with Malik. _What are those two boys talking about?_

“You still get out much to fish?” I refocus on Mr. Tomlinson.

“Sure do. Lou’s friend Niall, his father, and I sneak out as often as we can.”

_The fucking photographer! Again?_

“He’s the guy who looks after the Beetle?”

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“Great car, the Beetle. I’m a fan of German-made cars.”

“Yeah? Louis loves the old car, but I guess it’s getting past its sell-by date.”

“Funny you should mention that. I was thinking of loaning him one of my company cars. Do you think he’ll go for it?”

“I guess. That would be up to Louis, mind.”

“Great. I take it Lou’s not into fishing?”

“No. That boy takes after his mother. He couldn’t stomach seeing the fish suffer. Or the worms, for that matter. He’s a gentle soul.” He gives me a pointed look. _Oh._ A warning from Mark Tomlinson. I turn it into a joke.

“No wonder he wasn’t keen on the cod we ate the other day.”

Tomlinson chuckles. “He’s fine with eating them.”

Louis has finished talking to the Malik’s and is heading our way. “Hi,” he says, beaming at us.

“Louis, where are the restrooms?” Tomlinson asks.

He directs him to go outside the pavilion and to the left.

“See you in a moment. You kids enjoy yourselves,” he says.

He watches him go, then peers nervously up at me. But before he or I can say anything we’re interrupted by a photographer. She snaps a quick still of us together before hurrying away.

“So, you’ve charmed my father as well?” Lou says, his voice is sweet and teasing.

“As well?” _Have I charmed you, Louis Tomlinson?_

With my fingers I trace the rosy flush that appears on his cheek. “Oh, I wish I knew what you were thinking, Louis.”

When my fingers reach his chin, I tilt his head back so I can scrutinize his expression. He stills and stares back at me, his pupils darkening.

“Right now,” he whispers, “I’m thinking, nice tie.”

I was expecting some kind of declaration; his response makes me laugh. “It’s recently become my favourite.”

He smiles.

“You look lovely, Louis. This turtleneck jumper suits you, and I get to stroke your back, feel you.”

His lips part and his breath hitches, and I can feel the pull of attraction between us.

“You know it’s going to be good, don’t you, baby?” My voice is low, betraying my longing.

He closes his eyes, swallows, and takes a deep breath. When he opens them again, he’s radiating anxiety. “But I want more,” he says.

“More?”

_Fuck. What is this?_

He nods.

“More?” I whisper again. His lip is pliant between my thumb. “You want hearts and flowers.” _Fuck._ It will never work with him. I don’t do romance. My hopes and dreams begin to crumble between us.

His eyes are wide, innocent, and beseeching.

_Damn._ He’s so beguiling. “Louis. It’s not something I know.”

“Me, neither.”

Of course; he’s never had a relationship before. “You don’t know much.”

“You know all the wrong things,” he breathes.

“Wrong? Not to me. Try it,” I plead.

_Please. Try it my way._

His gaze is intense as he searches my face, looking for clues. And for a moment I’m lost in blue eyes that see everything.

“Okay,” he whispers.

“What?” Every hair on my body stands to attention.

“You’re agreeing?” I don’t believe it.

“Subject to the soft limits, yes. I’ll try.”

_Sweet. Lord._ I pull him into my arms and wrap him in my embrace, burying my face in his hair, inhaling his seductive scent. And I don’t care that we’re in a crowded space. It’s just him and me. “Jesus, Lou, you’re so unexpected. You take my breath away.”

A moment later I’m aware that Mark Tomlinson has returned and is examining his watch to cover his embarrassment. Reluctantly, I release him. I’m on top of the world.

_Deal done, Styles!_

“Louis, should we get some lunch?” Tomlinson asks.

“Okay,” he says with a shy smile directed at me.

“Would you like to join us, Harry?” For a moment I’m tempted, but Louis’ anxious glance in my direction says, _Please, no._ He wants alone time with his dad. I get it.

“Thank you, Mr. Tomlinson, but I have plans. It’s been great to meet you, sir.”

_Try and control your stupid grin, Styles._

“Likewise,” Mark replies – sincerely, I think. “Look after my baby boy.”

“Oh, I fully intend to,” I respond, shaking his hand.

_In ways that you can’t possibly imagine, Mr. Tomlinson._

I take Louis’ hand and bring his knuckles to my lips. “Later, Tomlinson,” I murmur. _You’ve made me a happy, happy man._

Mark gives me a brief nod, and taking his son’s elbow, leads him out of the reception. I stand dazed but brimming with hope.

He’s agreed.

“Harry Styles?” My joy is interrupted by Eamon Malik, Zayn’s father.

“Eamon, how are you?” We shake hands.

TAYLOR collects me at 3:30. “Good afternoon, sir,” he says, opening my car door.

En route he informs me that the Audi A3 has been delivered to The Heathman. Now I just have to give it to Louis. No doubt this will involve a discussion, and deep down I know it will be more than just a discussion. Then again, he’s agreed to be my submissive, so maybe he’ll accept my gift without any fuss.

_Who are you kidding, Styles?_

A man can dream. I hope we can meet this evening; I’ll give it to him as his graduation present.

I call Andrea and tell her to put a WebEx breakfast meeting into my schedule tomorrow with Eamon Malik and his associates in New York. Malik is interested in upgrading his fiber-optic network. I ask Andrea to have Ros and Fred on standby for the meeting, too. He relays some messages – nothing important – and reminds me I have to attend a charity function tomorrow in Seattle.

Tonight, will be my last night in Portland. It’s almost Lou’s last night here, too…   I contemplate calling him, but there’s little point since he doesn’t have his cell phone. And he’s enjoying time with his dad.

Staring out the car window as we drive toward The Heathman, I watch the good people of Portland go about their afternoon. At a stoplight there’s a young couple arguing on the sidewalk over a spilled bag of groceries. Another couple, even younger, walks hand in hand past them, eyes locked and giggling. The girl leans up and whispers something into the ear of the tattooed beau. He laughs, leans down, and kisses her quickly, then opens the door to a coffee shop and steps aside to let her enter.

Lou wants “more.” I sigh heavily and plow my fingers through my hair. They always want more. All of them. What can I do about that? The hand-in-hand couple strolling to the coffee shop – Louis and I did that. We’ve eaten together at two restaurants, and it was…fun. Perhaps I could try. After all, he’s giving me so much. I loosen my tie. _Could I do more?_

BACK in my room, I strip down, pull on my sweats, and head downstairs for a quick circuit in the gym. Enforced socialising has stretched the limits of my patience and I need to work off some excess energy. And I need to think about _more_.

ONCE I’m showered and dressed and back in front of my laptop, Ros calls via WebEx to check in and we talk for forty minutes. We cover all of the items on her agenda, including the Taiwan proposal and Darfur. The cost of the airdrop is staggering, but it’s safer for all involved. I give her the go-ahead. Now we have to wait for the shipment in Rotterdam.

“I’m up to date on Malik Media. I think Barney should be in on the meeting, too,” Ros says.

“If you think so. Let Andrea know.”

“Will do. How was the graduation ceremony?” she asks.

“Good. Unexpected.”

_Lou agreed to be mine._

“Unexpected good?”

“Yes.”

From the screen Ros peers at me, intrigues, but I say nothing more.

“Andrea tells me you’re back in Seattle tomorrow.”

“Yes. I have a function to attend in the evening.”

“Well, I hope your ‘merger’ has been successful.”

“I would say affirmative at this point, Ros.”

She smirks. “Glad to hear it. I have another meeting, so if there’s nothing else, I’ll say goodbye for now.”

“Goodbye.” I log out of WebEx and into e-mail, turning my attention to this evening.

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** Soft Limits

**Date:** May 26, 2011 17:22

**To:** Louis Tomlinson

What can I say that I haven’t already?

Happy to talk these through anytime.

You looked beautiful today.

Harry Styles,

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

And to think this morning I was convinced it was all over between us.

_Jesus, Styles. You need to get a grip._ Flynn would have a field day.

Of course, part of the reason was he didn’t have his phone. Perhaps he needs a more reliable form of communication.

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** Blackberry

**Date:** May 26, 2011 17:36

**To:** J B Taylor

**Cc:** Andrea Ashton

Taylor,

Please source a new Blackberry for Louis Tomlinson with his e-mail preinstalled. Andrea can get the account details from Barney and get them to you.

Please deliver it tomorrow either to his home or Clayton’s.

Harry Styles,

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

Once that’s sent, I pick up the latest _Forbes_ and start to read.

By 6:30 there’s no response from Louis, so I assume he’ still entertaining the quiet and unassuming Mark Tomlinson. Given that they aren’t related, they’re remarkably similar.

I order the seafood risotto from room service and while I wait, I read more of my book.

ANNE calls while I’m reading.

“Harry, darling.”

“Hello, mother.”

“Did Gemma get in touch?”

“Yes. I have her flight details. I’ll pick her up.”

“Great. Now, I hope you’ll stay for dinner on Saturday.”

“Sure.”

“And then on Sunday Liam is bringing his friend Zayn to dinner. Would you like to come? You could bring Louis?”

That’s what Malik was talking about today.

I play for time. “I’ll have to see if he’s free.”

“Let me know. It will be lovely to have all the family together again.”

I roll my eyes. “If you say so, Mother.”

“I do, darling. See you Saturday.”

She hangs up.

_Take Louis to meet my parents? How the hell do I get out of that?_

As I contemplate this predicament, an e-mail arrives.

**From:** Louis Tomlinson

**Subject:** Soft Limits

**Date:** May 26, 2011 19:23

**To:** Harry Styles

I can come over this evening to discuss if you’d like.

Lou

_No, no baby. Not in that car._ And my plans fall into place.

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** Soft Limits

**Date:** May 26, 2011 19:27

**To:** Louis Tomlinson

I’ll come to you. I meant it when I said I wasn’t happy about you driving that car.

I’ll be with you shortly.

Harry Styles,

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I print out another copy of the “Soft Limits” from the contracts and his “Issues” e-mail because I’ve left my first copy in my jacket, which he still has in his possession. Then I call Taylor in his room.

“I’m going to deliver the car to Louis. Can you pick me up from his place – say, nine thirty?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Before I leave, I stuff two condoms into the back pocket of my jeans.

_I might get lucky._

THE A3 is fun to drive, though it’s got less torque than I’m used to. I pull up outside a liquor store on the outskirts of Portland to buy some celebratory champagne. I forgo the Cristal and the Dom Perignon for Bollinger, mostly because it’s the 1999 vintage, and chilled, but also because it’s pink…symbolic, I think with a smirk, as I hand my AmEx to the cashier.

Lou is still wearing the stunning grey turtle neck with his smart, grey and blue tartan trousers when he opens the door. I look forward to peeling them off him later.

“Hi,” he says, his eyes large and luminous in his beautiful face.

“Hi.”

“Come in.” He seems shy and awkward. _Why? What’s happened?_

“If I may.” I hold up the bottle of champagne. “I thought we’d celebrate your graduation. Nothing beats a good Bollinger.”

“Interesting choice of words.” His voice is sardonic.

“Oh, I like your ready wit, Louis.” There he is…my boy.

“We only have teacups. We’ve packed all the glasses.”

“Teacups? Sounds good to me.”

I watch him wonder into the kitchen. He’s nervous and skittish. Perhaps because he’s had a big day, or because he’s agreed to my terms, or because he’s here alone – I know Malik is with his own family this evening; his father told me. I hope the champagne will help Louis relax…and talk.

The room is empty, except for packing crates, the sofa, and the table. There’s a brown pencil on the table with a handwritten note attached.

“I agree to the conditions, Angel; because you know best what my punishment ought to be: only – only – don’t make it more than I can bear!”

“Do you want saucers as well?” he calls.

“Teacups will be fine, Louis,” I respond, distracted. He’s wrapped up the books – the first editions I sent him. He’s giving them back to me. He doesn’t want them. This is why he’s nervous.

How the hell will he react to the car?

Looking up, I see him standing there, watching me. And carefully he places the cups on the table.

“That’s for you.” His voice is small and strained.

“Hmm, I figured as much,” I mutter. “Very apt quote.” I trace his handwriting with my finger. The letters are small and neat, and I wonder what a graphologist would make of them. “I thought I was d’Urberville, not Angel. You decided on the debasement.” Of course, it’s the perfect quote. My smile is ironic. “Trust you to find something that resonates so appropriately.”

“It’s also a plea,” he whispers.

“A plea? For me to go easy on you?”

He nods.

To me these books were an investment, but for him I thought they’d mean something. “I bought these for you.” It’s a small white lie – as I’ve replaced them. “I’ll go easier on you if you accept them.” I keep my voice calm and quiet, masking my disappointment.

“Harry, I can’t accept them, they’re just too much.”

Here we go, another battle of wills.

_Plus ca change, plus c'est la même chose_

“You see, this is what I was talking about, you defying me. I want you to have them, and that’s the end of the discussion. It’s very simple. You don’t have to think about this. As a submissive you would just be grateful for them. You just accept what I buy you because it pleases me for you to do so.”

“I wasn’t a submissive when you bought them for me,” he says quietly.

As ever, he has an answer for everything.

“No…but you’ve agreed, Louis.”

Is he reneging on our deal? God, this boy has me on a roller coaster.

“So, they are mine to with as I wish?”

“Yes.” _I thought you loved Hardy?_

“In that case, I’d like to give them to a charity – one working in Darfur, since that seems to be close to your heart. They can auction them.”

“If that’s what you want to do.” I’m not going to stop you.

_You can burn them, for all I care…_

His face colours. “I’ll think about it,” he mutters.

“Don’t think, Louis. Not about this.”

Keep them, please. They’re for you, because your passion is books. You’ve told me more than once. Enjoy them.

Placing the champagne on the table, I stand in front of him and cup his chin, tipping back his head so my eyes are on his. “I will buy you lots of things, Louis. Get used to it. I can afford it. I’m a very wealthy man.” I kiss him quickly. “Please,” I add, and release him.

“It makes me feel cheap,” he says.

“It shouldn’t. You’re overthinking it. Don’t place some vague moral judgement on yourself based on what others might think. Don’t waste your energy. It’s only because you have reservations about our arrangement; that’s perfectly natural. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

Anxiety is etched all over his lovely face.

“Hey, stop this. There is nothing about you that is cheap, Louis. I won’t have you thinking that. I just sent you some old books that I thought might mean something to you, that’s all.”

He blinks a couple of times and stares at the package, obviously conflicted.

_Keep them, Lou – they’re for you._

“Have some champagne,” I whisper, and he rewards me with a small smile.

“That’s better.” I open the champagne and fill the dainty teacups he’s placed in front of me.

“It’s pink.” He’s surprised, and I haven’t the heart to tell him why I chose the pink.

“Bollinger La Grande Annee Rose 1999 – an excellent vintage.”

“In teacups. Congratulations on your degree, Louis.”

We touch cups, and I drink. It tastes good, as I knew it would.

“Thank you.” He raises the cup to his lips and takes a quick sip. “Shall we go through the soft limits?”

“Always so eager.” Taking his hand, I lead him to the sofa – one of the only remaining in the living room – and we sit, surrounded by boxes.

“Your stepfather’s a very taciturn man.”

“You managed to get him eating out of your hand.”

I chuckle. “Only because I know how to fish.”

“How did you know he like fishing?”

“You told me. When we went for coffee.”

“Oh, did I?” He takes another sip and closes his eyes, savouring the taste. Opening them again, he asks. “Did you try the wine at the reception?”

“Yes. It was foul.” I grimace.

“I thought of you when I tasted it. How did you get to be so knowledgeable about wine?”

“I’m not knowledgeable, Louis, I just know what I like.” And I like you. “Some more?” I nod toward the bottle on the table.

“Please.”

I fetch the champagne and refill his cup. He regards me suspiciously. He knows I’m playing him with alcohol.

“This place looks pretty bare. Are you ready for the move?” I ask, to distract him.

“More or less.”

“Are you working tomorrow?”

“Yes, my last day at Clayton’s.”

“I’d help you move, but I promised to meet my sister at the airport. Gemma arrives from Paris early on Saturday. I’m heading back to Seattle tomorrow, but I hear Liam is giving you two a hand.”

“Yes, Zayn is very excited about that.”

I’m surprised Liam is still interested in Louis’ friend; it’s not his usual MO. “Yes, Zayn and Liam, who would have thought?” Their liaison makes matters complicated. My mother’s voice rings in my head: _“You could bring Louis.”_

“So, what are you doing about work in Seattle?” I ask.

“I have a couple of interviews for intern places.”

“You were going to tell me this when?”

“Um…I’m telling you now,” he says.

“Where?” I ask, hiding my frustration.

“A couple of publishing houses.”

“Is that what you want to do, something in publishing?”

He nods, but he’s still not forthcoming.

“Well?” I prompt.

“Well, what?”

“Don’t be obtuse, Louis. Which publishing houses?” I mentally run through all the publishing houses I know of in Seattle. There are four…I think.

“Just small ones,” he says evasively.

“Why don’t you want me to know?”

“Undue influence,” he says.

_What does that mean?_ I frown.

“Oh, now _you’re_ being obtuse,” he says, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

“Obtuse?” I laugh. “Me? God, you’re challenging. Drink up, let’s talk about these limits.”

His eyelashes flutter as he takes a shaky breath, then drains his cup. He’s really nervous about this. I offer more liquid courage.

“Please,” he responds.

Bottle in hand, I pause. “Have you eaten anything?”

“Yes. I had a three-course meal with Mark,” he says, exasperated, and rolls his eyes.

_Oh, Louis. At last I can do something about this disrespectful habit._

Leaning forward, I take hold of his chin and glare at him. “Next time you roll your eyes at me, I will take you across my knee.”

“Oh.” He looks a little shocked, but a little intrigued, too.

“Oh. So it begins, Louis.” With a wolfish grin I fill his teacup, and he takes a long sip.

“Got your attention now, haven’t I?”

He nods.

“Answer me.”

“Yes, you’ve got my attention,” he says with a contrite smile.

“Good.” I fish out his e-mail, and Appendix 3 of my contract, from my side jacket. “So, sexual acts. We’ve done most of this.” He shuffles closer to me and we read down the list.

**APPENDIX 3**

Soft Limits

To be discussed and agreed between both parties:

Does the Submissive consent to:

  * Masturbation
  * Cunnilingus
  * Fellatio
  * Swallowing Semen
  * Anal intercourse
  * Anal fisting



“No fisting, you say. Anything else you object to?” I ask.

He swallows. “All the Anal intercourse doesn’t exactly float my boat.”

“I’ll agree to the fisting, but I really like to claim your ass, Louis.” _Again._

He inhales sharply, gazing at me.

“But we’ll wait to do all that on a regular basis.” I can’t help my smirk. “Besides, your ass will need the proper training.”

“Training?” His eyes widen.

“Oh yes. It’ll need careful preparation. I want to make this as pleasurable as possible for you.” I delight in his shocked expression.

“You’ve done this before?” he asks.

“Yes.” _What did he expect?_

“Mrs Robinson?” _Oh._

“Yes.”

Louis frowns and I move on quickly, before he can ask me any more questions about that.

“And…swallowing semen. Well, you get an A in that.” I expect a smile from him, but he’s studying me intently, as if seeing me in a new light. I think he’s still reeling over Mrs Robinson and anal intercourse. _Oh, baby_ , Nick had my submission. He could do with me as he pleased. And I enjoyed it.

“So, swallowing semen okay?” I ask, trying to bring him back to the now. He nods and finishes his champagne.

“More?” I ask.

_Steady, Styles, you just want him tipsy, not drunk._

“More,” he whispers.

I refill his cup and get back to the list.

“Sex toys?”

Does the Submissive consent to the use of:

  * Vibrators
  * Butt Plugs
  * Dildos
  * Other anal toys



“Butt plug? Does it do what it says on the box?” He grimaces.

“Yes. And I refer to anal intercourse above. Training.”

“Oh. What’s in the ‘other’?”

“Beads, eggs, that sort of stuff.”

“Eggs?” His hand shoots to his mouth in shock.

“Not real eggs.” I laugh.

“I’m glad you find me funny.” The hurt in his voice is sobering.

“I apologise. I’m sorry.”

_For fuck’s sake, Styles. Go easy on him._

“Any problems with toys?”

“No,” he snaps.

_Shit. He’s still sulking._

“Louis, I am sorry. Believe me. I don’t mean to laugh. I’ve never had this conversation in so much detail. You’re just so inexperienced. I’m sorry.”

He pouts and takes another sip of champagne.

“Right – bondage,” I say, and we return to the list.

Does the Submissive consent to:

  * Bondage with rope
  * Bondage with leather cuffs
  * Bondage with handcuffs/shackles/manacles
  * Bondage with tape
  * Bondage with other



“Well?” I ask, gently this time.

“Fine,” he whispers and continues reading.

Does the Submissive consent to be restrained with:

  * Hand bound in front
  * Ankles bound
  * Elbows bound
  * Hands bound behind back
  * Knees bound
  * Wrists bound to ankles
  * Binding to fixed items, furniture, etc.
  * Binding with spreader bar
  * Suspension



Does the Submissive consent to be blindfolded?

Does the Submissive consent to be gagged?

“We’ve talked about suspension. And it’s fine if you want to set that up as a hard limit. It takes a great deal of time, and I only have you for short periods anyway. Anything else?”

“Don’t laugh at me, bit what’s a spreader bar?”

“I promise not to laugh. I’ve apologised twice.” _For Christ’s sake._ “Don’t make me do it again.” My voice is sharper than I intended, and he leans away from me.

_Shit._

_Ignore his reaction, Styles. Get on with it._

“A spreader is a bar with cuffs for ankles and/or wrists. They’re fun.”

“Okay. Well, gagging me. I’d be worried I wouldn’t be able to breathe.”

“ _I’d_ be worried if you couldn’t breathe. I don’t want to suffocate you.” Breath play is not my scene at all.

“And how will I use safe words if I’m gagged?” he inquires.

“First of all, I hope you never have to use them. But if you’re gaged, we’ll use hand signals.”

“I’m nervous about the gagging.”

“Okay. I’ll take note.”

He studies me for a moment as if he’s solved the riddle of the sphinx. “Do you like tying your submissive’s up so they can’t touch you?” he asks.

“That’s one of the reasons.”

“Is that why you’ve tied my hands?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t like talking about that,” he says.

“No, I don’t.”

_I’m not going there with you, Lou. Give it up._

“Would you like another drink?” I ask. “It’s making you brave, and I need to know how you feel about pain.” I refill his cup and he takes a sip, wide-eyed and anxious. “So, what’s your general attitude to receiving pain?”

He remains mute.

I suppress a sigh. “You’re biting your lip.” Fortunately, he stops, but now he’s pensive and staring down at his hands.

“Were you physically punished as a child?” I prompt him gently.

“No.”

“So you have no sphere of reference at all?”

“No.”

“It’s not as bad ad you think. Your imagination is your worst enemy in this.” _Trust me on this, Lou. Please._

“Do you have to do it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

_You really don’t want to know._

“Goes with the territory, Louis. It’s what I do. I can see you’re nervous. Let’s go through methods.”

We read though the list:

  * Spanking
  * Whipping
  * Biting
  * Genital Clamps
  * Hot wax
  * Paddling
  * Caning
  * Nipple clamps
  * Ice
  * Other types/methods of pain



“Well, you said no to the genital clamps. That’s fine. It’s caning that hurts the most.”

Louis pales.

“We can work up to that,” I state quickly.

“Or not to do it at all,” he counters.

“This is part of the deal, baby, but we’ll work up to all of this. Louis, I won’t push you too far.”

“This punishment thing, it worries me the most.”

“Well, I’m glad you’ve told me. We’ll keep caning off the list for now. And as you get more comfortable with everything else, we’ll increase intensity. We’ll take it slow.”

He looks uncertain, so I lean forward and kiss him. “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

He shrugs, still doubtful.

“Look, I want to talk about one more thing, then I’m taking you to bed.”

“Bed?” he exclaims and colour flushes his cheeks.

“Come on, Louis, talking through all this, I want to fuck you into next week, right now. It must be having some effect on you, too.”

He squirms beside me and takes a husky breath, his thighs pressing together.

“See? Besides, there’s something I want to try.”

“Something painful?”

“No – stop seeing pain everywhere. It’s mainly pleasure. Have I hurt you yet?”

“No.”

“Well, then. Look, earlier today you were talking about wanting more.” I stop.

_Fuck. I’m on a precipice._

_Okay, Styles, are you sure about this?_

_I have to try. I don’t want to lose him before we start._

_Jump._

I take his hand. “Outside of the time you’re my sub, perhaps we could try. I don’t know if it’ll work. I don’t know about separating everything. It may not work. But I’m willing to try. Maybe one night a week. I don’t know.”

His mouth drops open.

“I have one condition.”

“What?” he asks, his breath hitching.

“You graciously accept my graduation present to you.”

“Oh,” he says, his eyes widening with uncertainty.

“Come.” I pull him to his feet, slip off my leather jacket, and drape it over his shoulders. Taking a deep breath, I open the front door and reveal the Audi A3 parked at the curb. “It’s for you. Happy graduation.” I wrap my arms around him and kiss his hair.

When I release him, he stares dumbfounded at the car.

_Okay…this could go either way._

Taking his hand, I lead him down the steps and he follows as if in a trance.

“Louis, that Beetle of yours is old and, frankly, dangerous. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you when it’s so easy for me to make it right.”

He gapes at the car, speechless.

_Shit._

“I mentioned it to your stepfather. He was all for it.”

_Perhaps, I’m overstating this._

His mouth is still open in dismay when he turns to glare at me.

“You mentioned this to Mark? How _could_ you?” He’s annoyed, really annoyed.

“It’s a gift, Louis. Can’t you just say thank you?”

“But you know it’s too much.”

“Not to me it isn’t, not for my peace of mind.”

_Come on, Louis. You want more. This is the price._

His shoulders sag, and he turns to me, resigned, I think. Not quite the reaction I was hoping for. The rosy glow from the champagne has disappeared and his face is pale once more. “I’m happy for you to loan this to me, like the laptop.”

I shake my head. Why is he so difficult? I’ve never had this reaction to a car from any of my submissive’s. They’re usually delighted.

“Okay. On loan. Indefinitely,” I agree through gritted teeth.

“No, not indefinitely, but for now. Thank you,” he says quietly, and leaning up, he kisses me on the cheek. “Thank you for the car, Sir.”

That word. From his sweet, sweet mouth. I grab and press his body to mine, his hair pooling in my fingers. “You are one challenging man, Lou Tomlinson.” I kiss him forcefully, coaxing his lips apart with my tongue, and a moment later he’s responding, matching my ardour, his tongue caressing mine. My body reacts – I want him. Here. Now. In the open. “It’s taking all my self-control not to fuck you on the hood of this car right now, just to show you that you are mine, and if I want to buy you a fucking car, I’ll buy you a fucking car. Now let’s get you inside and naked,” I growl. Then I kiss him once more, demanding and possessive. Taking his hand, I stride back into the apartment, slamming the front door behind us and heading straight for his bedroom. There I release him and switch on his bedside light.

“Please don’t be angry with me,” he whispers.

His words douse the fire of my anger.

“I’m sorry about the car and the books – “He halts and licks his lips. “You scare me when you’re angry.”

_Shit._ No one has ever said that to me before. I close my eyes. The last thing I want to do is frighten him.

_Calm down, Styles._

_He’s here. He’s safe. He’s willing. Don’t blow it, just because he doesn’t understand_ _how to behave._

Opening my eyes, I find Louis watching me, not in fear, but with anticipation.

“Turn around,” I demand, my voice soft. “I want to get you out of those clothes.”

He obeys immediately.

_Good boy._

I remove my jacket from his shoulders and discard it on the floor, then run my finger through his soft hair. Now that he’s doing what he’s told, I relax.

With the tip of my finger I follow the line of his spine over the light polo to his hips, and lift his top up and over his head, revealing his perfect pink skin. Hooking my finger into the back of his slacks, I pull him close so he’s flush against me. He’s warm.

I bury my face in his hair and breathe in his scent.

“You smell so good, Louis. So sweet.”

Like fall.

His fragrance is comforting, reminding me of a time of plenty and happiness. Still inhaling his delicious scent, I skim my nose from his ear down his neck to his bare shoulder, kissing him as I go. Slowly I kiss, and lick, and suck my way across his skin to his other shoulder.

He shivers beneath my touch.

_Oh, baby._ “You are going to have to learn to keep still,” I whisper between kisses.

I spin him around, never untucking my fingers from the waistband of his trousers, and make quick work of unbuttoning and unzipping him from them. They fall to his feet.

Reaching forward, I cup his chest and feel his nipples pebble against my palm.

“Lift your arms and put them around my head,” I order, my lips brushing his neck. He does as he’s told and his chest pushes farther into my palms. He twists his fingers into my hair, the way I like, and he tugs.

_Ah…That feels so good._

His head lolls to the side, and I take advantage, kissing him where his pulse hammers beneath his skin.

“Mmm…” I murmur in appreciation, my fingers teasing and tugging at his nipples.

He groans, arching his back, pushing his perfect chest even farther into my hands.

“Shall I make you come this way?”

His body bows a little more.

“You like this, don’t you, Mr Tomlinson?”

“Mmm…”

“Tell me,” I insist, continuing my sensual assault on his nipples.

“Yes,” he breathes.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes…Sir.”

“Good boy.”

Gently I pinch and twist with my fingers and his body bucks convulsively against me while he moans, his hands tugging harder at my hair.

“I don’t think you’re ready to come yet.” And I still my hands, just holding his chest, while my teeth tug at his earlobe. “Besides, you have displeased me. So perhaps I won’t let you come after all.”

My fingers return my attention to his nipples, twisting and tugging. He groans and grinds his ass against my erection. Shifting my hands to his hips, I hold him steady and glance down at his underwear.

Cotton. White. Easy.

I hook my fingers into them and stretch them as far as they’ll go, then push my thumbs through the seam at the back. They tear apart in my hands and I throw them at Lou’s feet.

He gasps.

I trace my fingers around his ass and insert a finger into his waiting hole. Another gasp escapes his lips.

I groan and close my eyes to take him in.

He’s tight. _Very tight._

“Oh yes. My sweet boy is ready.”

I spin him round and slip my finger into my mouth.

_Mmm. Louis._ “You taste so fine, Mr Tomlinson.”

His lips part and his eyes darken with want. I think he’s a little shocked.

“Undress me.” I keep my eyes on his.

He tilts his head, processing my command, but hesitates. “You can do it,” I encourage him. He lifts his hands and all of a sudden, I think he’s going to touch me, and I’m not ready. _Shit._

Instinctively I grab his hands.

“Oh no. Not the T-shirt.”

I want him on top. We’ve not done this yet, and he may lose his balance, so I’ll need the T-shirt for protection. “You may need to touch me for what I have planned.” I release one of his hands, but the other I place over my erection, which is fighting for space in my jeans.

“This is the effect you have one me, Mr Tomlinson.”

He inhales, gazing at his hand. Then his fingers tighten around my cock and he glances up at me with appreciation.

I grin. “I want to be inside you. Take my jeans off. You’re in charge.”

His mouth drops open.

“What are you going to do with me?” My voice is husky.

His face transforms, bright with delight, and before I can react, he pushes me. I laugh as I fall onto the bed, mainly at his bravado, but also because he touched me and I didn’t panic. He removes my shoes, then my socks, but he’s all fingers and thumbs, reminding me of the interview and his attempts to set up the recorder.

I watch him. Amused. Aroused. Wondering what he’ll do next. It’s going to be one hell of a task for him to remove my jeans while I’m lying down. Stepping out of his shoes, he crawls up the bed, sits astride the top of my thighs, and slips his fingers between the waistband of my jeans. I can feel him hard against me.

I close my eyes and flex my hips, enjoying shameless Lou.

“You’ll have to learn how to keep still,” he castigates me, and tugs at my pubic hair.

_Ah! So bold, Sir._

“Yes, Mr Tomlinson,” I tease through clenched teeth. “In my pocket, condom.”

His eyes flash with obvious delight and his fingers rifle through my pocket, diving deep, brushing my erection.

_Ah…_

He produces both foil packets and tosses them onto the bed beside me. His fumbling fingers reach for the button on my waistband, and after two attempts he undoes it.

His naivete is captivating. It’s obvious that he’s never done this before. Another first…and it’s fucking arousing.

“So eager, Mr Tomlinson,” I tease.

He yanks down my zipper and, pulling at my waistband, gives me a look of frustration.

I try hard not to laugh.

_Yeah, baby, how are you going to get these off me now?_

Shuffling down my legs, he tugs at my jeans, concentrating hard, looking adorable. And I decide to help him out. “I can’t keep still if you’re going to bite that lip,” I say while arching my hips, lifting them off the bed.

Rising up on his knees, he pulls down my jeans and boxers and I kick them off, onto the floor. He sits across me, eyeing my cock and licking his lips.

_Whoa._

He looks hot, his dark hair falling in front of his beautiful blue eyes.

“No what are you going to do?” I whisper. His eyes flick to my face and he reaches up and grasps me firmly, squeezing hard, his thumb brushing over the tip.

_Jesus._

He leans down.

And I’m in his mouth.

_Fuck._

He sucks hard. And my body flexes beneath him. “Jeez, Lou, steady,” I hiss through my teeth. But he shows no mercy as he fellates me again and again. _Fuck._ His enthusiasm is disarming. His tongue is up and down, I’m in and out of his mouth to the back of his throat, his lips tight around me. It’s an overwhelming erotic vision. I could come just watching him.

“Stop, Lou, stop. I don’t want to come.”

He sits up, his mouth moist and his eyes two dark pools directed at me.

“Your innocence and enthusiasm are very disarming.” _But right now, I want to fuck you so I can see you._ “You, on top, that’s what we need to do. Here, put this on.” I place a condom in his hand. He examines it with consternation, the rips the packet open with his teeth.

He’s keen.

He removes the condom and looks to me for direction. “Pinch the top and then roll it down. You don’t want any air in the end of that sucker.”

He nods and does exactly that, absorbed in his task, concentrating hard, his tongue peeking between his lips.

“Christ, you’re killing me here,” I exclaim through clenched teeth.

When he’s done, he sits back and admires his handiwork, or me – I’m not quite sure, but I don’t care. “Now. I want to be buried inside you.” I sit up suddenly so we’re face-to-face, surprising him. “Like this,” I whisper, and, wrapping my arm around him, I lift him. With my other hand I position my cock and lower him slowly onto me.

“My breath escapes from my body as his eyes close and pleasure thrums noisily in his throat.

“That’s right, baby, feel me, all of me.”

_He. Feels. So. Good._

I hold him, letting him get used to the feel of me. Like this. Inside him, “It’s deep this way.” My voice is hoarse, as I flex and tilt my pelvis, pushing deeper into him.

His head lolls as he moans. “Again,” he breathes. And he opens his eyes and they blaze into mine. Wanton. Willing. I love that he loves this. I do as I’m asked and he moans again, throwing back his head, his hair tumbling around in a riot. Slowly I recline onto the bed to watch the show.

“You move, Louis, up and down, how you want. Take my hands.” I hold them out and he grabs them, steadying himself on top of me. Slowly he ceases himself up, then sinks back down onto me.

My breath is coming in short, sharp pants as I restrain myself. He lifts himself again and this time I raise my hips to meet his as he comes down.

_Oh yes._

Closing my eyes, I savour every delicious inch of him. Together we find our rhythm as he rides me. Over and over and over. He looks fantastic: his body bouncing, his hair swinging, his mouth slack as he absorbs each stab of pleasure.

His eyes meet mine, full of carnal need and wonder. God, he’s beautiful.

He cries out as his body takes over. He’s almost there, so I tighten my grip on his hands, and he ignites around me. I grab his hips, holding him as he shouts incoherently through his orgasm. Then I tighten my hold on his hips and silently lose myself as I explode inside him.

He flops down onto my chest, and I lie, panting, beneath him.

_My God, he’s a good fuck._

We lie together for a moment, his weight a comfort. He stirs and nuzzles me through my shirt, then splays his hand on top of my chest.

The darkness slithers, quick and strong, into my chest, into my throat, threatening to suffocate and choke me.

_No. Don’t touch me._

I grab his hand and bring his knuckles to my lips, and roll over on top of him so he’s no longer able to touch me.

“Don’t,” I plead, and kiss his lips as I dampen down my fear.

“Why don’t you like to be touched?”

“Because I’m fifty shades of fucked up, Louis.” After years and years of therapy, it’s the one thing I know to be true.

His eyes widen, inquisitive; he’s thirsty for more information. But he doesn’t need to know this shit. “I had a very tough introduction to life. I don’t want to burden you with the details. Just don’t.” I gently brush my nose against his and, withdrawing from him, I sit up and remove the condom and drop it by the bed. “I think that’s all the very basics covered. How was that?”

For a moment he seems distracted, then he tilts his head to one side and smiles. “If you imagine for one minute that I think you ceded control to me, well, you haven’t taken into account me GPA. But thank you for the illusion.”

“Mr Tomlinson, you are not just a pretty face. You’ve had six orgasms so far and all of them belong to me.” Why does that mere fact make me glad?

His eyes stray to the ceiling, and a fleeting guilty expression crosses his face.

_What’s this?_ “Do you have something to tell me?” I ask.

He hesitates. “I had a dream this morning.”

“Oh?”

“I came in my sleep.” He flings his arm over his face, hiding from me, embarrassed. I’m stunned by his confession but aroused and delighted, too.

_Sensual creature._

He peeks over his arm. Does he expect me to be angry?

“In your sleep?” I clarify.

“Woke me up,” he whispers.

“I’m sure it did.” I’m fascinated. “What were you dreaming about?”

“You,” he says in a small voice.

_Me!_

“What was I doing?”

He hides beneath his arm again.

“Louis, what was I doing? I won’t ask you again.” Why is he so embarrassed? His dreaming about me is…endearing.

“You had a riding crop,” he mumbles. I move his arm so I can see his face.

“Really?”

“Yes.” His face is bright red. The research must be affecting him, in a good way. I smile down at him.

“There’s hope for you yet. I have several riding crops.”

“Brown plaited leather?” His voice is tinged with quiet optimism.

I laugh. “No, but I’m sure I could get one.”

I give him a swift kiss and stand to dress. Lou does the same, pulling on sweatpants and a camisole. Collecting the condom off the floor, I knot it quickly. Now that he’s agreed to be mine, he needs contraception. Fully dressed, he sits cross-legged on the bed watching me as I grab my pants. “When is your next cycle?” I ask. “I hate wearing these things.” I hold up the knotted condom and pull on my jeans.

He’s taken aback.

_Embarrassed? Why?_

“Well?” I prod.

“Next week,” he answers, his cheeks pink.

“You need to sort out some contraception.”

I sit on the bed to slip on my sock and shoes. He says nothing.

“Do you have a doctor?” I ask. He shakes his head. “I can have mine come and see you at your apartment – Sunday morning, before you come and see me. Or he can see you at my place. Which would you prefer?”

I’m sure Dr. Baxter will make a house call for me, although I haven’t seen him for a while.

“Your place,” he says.

“Okay. I’ll let you know the time.”

“Are you leaving?”

He seems surprised that I’m going. “Yes.”

“How are you getting back?” he asks.

“Taylor will pick me up.”

“I can drive you. I have a lovely new car.”

That’s better. He’s accepted the car as he should, but after all that champagne, he shouldn’t be driving. “I think you’ve had too much to drink.”

“Did you get me tipsy on purpose?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you overthink everything, and you’re reticent, like your stepdad. A drop of wine in you and you start talking, and I need you to communicate honestly with me. Otherwise you clam up, and I have no idea what you’re thinking. In vino veritas, Louis.”

“And you think you’re always honest with me?”

“I endeavour to be. This will only work if we’re honest with each other.”

“I’d like you to stay and use this.” He grabs the other condom and waves it at me.

_Manage his expectations, Styles._

“I have crossed so many lines here tonight. I have to go. I’ll see you on Sunday.” I stand up. “I’ll have the revised contract ready for you, and then we can really start to play.”

“Play?” he squeaks.

“I’d like to do a scene with you. But I won’t until you’ve signed, so I know you’re ready.”

“Oh. So I could stretch this out if I don’t sign?”

_Shit. I hadn’t thought of that._

His chin tilts up in defiance.

_Ah…topping from the bottom, again._ He always finds a way.

“Well, I suppose you could, but I may crack under the strain.”

“Crack? How?” he queries, his eyes alive with curiosity.

“Could get really ugly,” I tease, narrowing my eyes.

“Ugly, how?” His grin matches mine.

“Oh, you know, explosions, car chases, kidnapping, incarceration.”

“You’d kidnap me?”

“Oh yes.”

“Hold me against my will?”

“Oh yes.” _Now, that’s an interesting idea._ “And then we’re talking TPE twenty-four-seven.”

“You’ve lost me,” he says, perplexed and a little breathless.

“Total Power Exchange – around the clock.” My mind whirls as I think of the possibilities. He’s curious. “So you have a choice,” I add, with a playful tone.

“Clearly.” His tone is sarcastic and he rolls his eyes to the heavens. Perhaps looking for divine inspiration to understand my sense of humour.

_Oh, sweet joy._

“Louis Tomlinson, did you just roll your eyes at me?”

“No!”

“I think you did. What did I say I’d do to you if you rolled your eyes at me again?” My words hang between us and I sit down again on the bed. “Come here.”

For a moment he stares at me, blanching. “I haven’t signed,” he whispers.

“I told you what I’d do. I’m a man of my word. I’m going to spank you, and then fuck you very quick and very hard. Looks like we’ll need that condom after all.”

Will he? Won’t he? This is it. Proof of whether he can do this or not. I watch him, impassive, waiting for him to decide. If he says no, it means he’s paying lip service to the idea of being my submissive.

And that will be it.

_Make the right choice, Lou._

His expression is grave, his eyes wide, and I think he’s weighing up his decision.

“I’m waiting,” I murmur. “I’m not a patient man.”

Taking a deep breath, he unfurls his legs and crawls toward me, and I hide my relief.

“Good boy, now stand up.”

He does as he’s told, and I offer him my hand. He lays the condom on my palm, and I grasp his hand and abruptly pull him over my left knee, so that his head, shoulders, and chest are resting on the bed. I drape my right leg over his legs, holding him in place. I’ve wanted to do this since he asked me if I was gay. “Put your hands up on either side of your head,” I order and he complied immediately. “Why am I doing this, Louis?”

“Because I rolled my eyes at you,” he says in a hoarse whisper.

“Do you think that’s polite?”

“No.”

“Will you do it again?”

“No.”

“I will spank you each time you do it, do you understand?”

I’m going to savour this moment. It’s another first.

With great care – relishing in the deed – I tug down his sweatpants. His beautiful behind is naked and ready for me. As I place my hand on his backside, he tenses every muscle in his body…waiting. His skin is soft to the touch and I sweep my palm across both cheeks, fondling each. He has a fine, fine ass. And I’m going to make it pink…like champagne.

Lifting my palm, I smack him, hard, just above the junction of his thighs.

He gasps and tries to rise, but I hold him down with my other hand at the small of his back, and I soothe the area I’ve just hit with a slow, gentle caress.

He stays still.

Panting.

Anticipating.

_Yes, I’m going to do that again._

I smack him once, twice, three times.

He grimaces at the pain, his eyes screwed shut. But he doesn’t ask me to stop even though he’s squirming beneath me.

“Keep still, or I’ll spank you for longer,” I warn.

I rub his sweet flesh and start again, taking turns: left cheek, right cheek, middle.

He cries out. But he doesn’t move his arms, and he still doesn’t ask me to stop.

“I’m just getting warmed up.” My voice is husky. I smack him again, and trace the pink handprint I’ve left on his skin. His ass is pinking up nicely. It looks glorious.

I smack him once more.

And he cries out again.

“No one to hear you, baby, just me.”

I spank him over and over – the same pattern, left cheek, right cheek, middle – and he yelps each time. When I reach eighteen, I stop. I’m breathless, my palm is stinging, and my cock is rigid.

“Enough,” I rasp, trying to catch my breath. “Well done, Louis. Now I’m going to fuck you.”

I stroke his pink behind gently, round and round, moving down. He’s hard.

And my own body gets harder.

I insert two fingers into his hole.

“Feel this. See how much your body likes this. You’re hard and ready, just for me.” I slide my fingers in and out, and he groans, his body curling around them with each push and his breathing accelerating.

I withdraw them.

I want him. Now.

“Next time, I will get you to count. Now, where’s that condom?” Grabbing it from beside his head, I ease him gently off my lap and onto the bed, facedown. Unzipping my fly, I don’t bother to remove my jeans, and I make short work of the foil packet, rolling the condom on quickly and efficiently. I lift his hips until he’s kneeling and his ass in all its rosy glory is poised in the air as I stand behind him.

“I’m going to take you now. You can come,” I growl, caressing his behind and grabbing my cock. With one swift thrust I’m inside him.

He moans as I move. In. Out. In. Out. I pound into him, watching my cock disappear beneath his pink backside.

His mouth is open wide and he grunts and groans with each thrust, his cries getting higher and higher.

_Come on, Lou._

He clenches around me and cries out as he comes, hard.

“Oh, Lou!” I follow him over the edge as I climax into him and lose all time and perspective.

I collapse at his side, pull him on top of me, and, wrapping my arms around him, I whisper into his hair, “Oh, baby, welcome to my world.”

His weight anchors me, and he makes no attempt to touch my chest. His eyes are closed and his breathing is returning to normal. I stroke his hair. It’s soft, a rich mahogany, shining in the glow of his bedside light. He smells of Lou and apples and sex. It’s heady. “Well done, baby.”

He’s not in tears. He did as he was asked. He’s faced every challenge I’ve thrown at him; he really is quite remarkable. I finger the sleeve of his cheap cotton top. “Is this what you sleep in?”

“Yes.” He sounds drowsy.

“You should be in silks and satins, you beautiful boy. I’ll take you shopping.”

“I like my sweats,” he argues.

Of course he does.

I kiss his hair. “We’ll see.”

Closing my eyes, I relax in our quiet moment, a strange contentment warming me, filling me up inside.

This feels right. _Too right._

“I have to go,” I murmur, and kiss his forehead. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” he says, sounding a little subdued.

Gently I roll out from underneath him and get up. “Where’s your bathroom?” I ask, taking off the used condom and zipping up my jeans.

“Down the hall to the left.”

In the bathroom I discard the condoms in a trash bin and spy a bottle of baby oil on the shelf.

That’s what I need.

He’s dressed when I return, evading my gaze. _Why so shy suddenly?_

“I found some baby oil. Let me rub it into your behind.”

“No. I’ll be fine,” he says, examining his fingers, still avoiding eye contact.

“Louis,” I warn him.

_Please just do as you’re told._

I sit down behind him and tug down his sweatpants. Squirting some baby oil on my hand, I rub it tenderly into his sore ass.

He puts his hands on his hips in an obstinate stance, but stays silent.

“I like my hands on you,” I admit out loud to myself. “There.” I pull his sweatpants up. “I’m leaving now.”

“I’ll see you out,” he says quietly, standing aside. I take his hand and reluctantly let go when we reach the front door. Part of me doesn’t want to leave.

“Don’t you have to call Taylor?” he asks, his eyes fixed on the zipper of my leather jacket.

“Taylor’s been here since nine. Look at me.”

Large blue eyes peek up at me through long, dark lashes.

“You didn’t cry.” My voice is low.

_And you let me spank you. You’re amazing._

I grab and kiss him, pouring my gratitude into the kiss and holding him close. “Sunday,” I whisper, fevered, against his lips. I release him abruptly before I’m tempted to ask him if I can stay, and I head out to where Taylor is waiting in the SUV. Once I’m in the car I look back, but he’s gone. He’s probably tired…like me.

_Pleasantly tired._

That has to have been the most pleasurable “soft limits” conversation I’ve ever head.

_Damn, that man is unexpected._ Closing my eyes, I see him riding me, his head tipped back in ecstasy. Lou does not do things half-heartedly. He commits. And to think he had sex for the first time only a week ago.

_With me. No one else._

I grin as I stare out the window, but all I see is my ghostly face reflected in the glass. So I close my eyes and allow myself to daydream.

Training him will be fun.

TAYLOR wakes me from my doze. “We’re here, Mr. Styles.”

“Thank you,” I mumble. “I have a meeting in the morning.”

“At the hotel?”

“Yes. Videoconference. I won’t need to be driven anywhere. But I’d like to leave before lunch.”

“What time would you like me to pack?”

“Ten thirty.”

“Very good, sir. The Blackberry you asked for will be delivered to Mr Tomlinson tomorrow.”

“Good. That reminds me. Can you collect his old Beetle tomorrow and dispose of it? I don’t want him driving it.”

“Of course. I have a friend who restores vintage cars. He might be interested. I’ll deal with it. Will there be anything else?”

“No thank you. Good night.”

“Good night.”

I leave Taylor to park the SUV and make my way up to my suite.

Opening a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge, I sit down at the desk and switch on my laptop.

No urgent e-mails.

But my real purpose is to say good night to Lou.

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** You

**Date:** May 26, 2011 23:14

**To:** Louis Tomlinson

Dear Mr. Tomlinson,

You are quite simply exquisite. The most beautiful, intelligent, witty, and brave man I have ever met. Take some Advil – this is not a request. And don’t drive your Beetle again. I will know

Harry Styles,

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

He’ll probably be asleep, but I keep my laptop open just in case and check e-mail. A few minutes later his response arrives.

**From:** Louis Tomlinson

**Subject:** Flattery

**Date:** May 26, 2011 23:20

**To:** Harry Styles

Dear Mr. Styles,

Flattery will get you nowhere, but since you’ve been _everywhere_ , the point is moot.

I will need to drive my Beetle to a garage so I can sell it – so will not graciously accept any of your nonsense over that. Red wine is always more preferable to Advil.

Lou

P.S.: Caning is a HARD limit for me.

His opening line makes me laugh out loud. _Oh, baby, I have not been everywhere I want to go with you._ Red wine in top of champagne? Not a clever mix, and caning is off the list. I wonder what else he’ll object to as I compose my reply.

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** Frustrating men who can’t take compliments

**Date:** May 26, 2011 23:26

**To:** Louis Tomlinson

Dear Mr. Tomlinson,

I am not flattering you. You should go to bed.

I accept your addition to the hard limits.

Don’t drink too much.

Taylor will dispose of your car and get a good price for it, too.

Harry Styles,

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I hope he’s in bed now.

**From:** Louis Tomlinson

**Subject:** Taylor – Is he the right man for the job?

**Date:** May 26, 2011 23:40

**To:** Harry Styles

Dear Sir,

I am intrigued that you are happy to risk letting your right-hand man drive my car but not some man you fuck occasionally. How can I be sure that Taylor is the man to get me the best deal for said car? I have, in the past, probably before I met you, been known to drive a hard bargain.

Lou

_What the hell? Some man I fuck occasionally?_

I have to take a deep breath. His response irks me…no, infuriates me. How _dare_ he talk about himself like that? As my submissive he’ll be more than that.

I’ll be devoted to him. Does he not realise this?

And he has driven a hard bargain with me. _Good God!_ Look at all the concessions I’ve made with regard to the contract.

I count to ten, and to calm down, I visualise myself abroad The Grace, my catamaran, sailing on the Sound.

Flynn would be proud.

I respond.

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** Careful!

**Date:** May 26, 2011 23:44

**To:** Louis Tomlinson

Dear Mr. Tomlinson,

I am assuming it is the RED WINE talking, and that you’ve had a very long day.

Though I am tempted to drive back over there to ensure that you don’t sit down for a week, rather than an evening.

Taylor is ex-army and capable of driving anything from a motorcycle to a Sherman tank. Your car does not present a hazard to him.

Now please do not refer to yourself as “some man I fuck occasionally” because, quite frankly, it makes me MAD, and you really wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.

Harry Styles,

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I exhale slowly, steadying my heart rate. Who else on earth has the ability to get under my skin like this?

He doesn’t write back immediately. Perhaps he’s intimidated by my response. I pick up my book, but soon find that I’ve read the same paragraph three times while I’m awaiting his reply. I look up for the umpteenth time.

**From:** Louis Tomlinson

**Subject:** Careful yourself

**Date:** May 26, 2011 23:57

**To:** Harry Styles

Dear Mr. Styles,

I’m not sure I like you anyway, especially at the moment.

Mr. Tomlinson

I stare at his reply, and all my anger withers and dies, to be replaced by a surge of anxiety.

_Shit._

Is he saying that’s it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lurrrv ya x


	12. Do you ever think you’ll be able to do as you’re told?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy wed-nes-day!
> 
> Hope you're all well and enjoy this chapter :)
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Not my storyline, not my characters.

** FRIDAY, MAY 27, 2011 **

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** Careful yourself

**Date:** May 27, 2011 00:03

**To:** Louis Tomlinson

Why don’t you like me?

Harry Styles,

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I get up and open another bottle of sparkling water.

And wait.

**From:** Louis Tomlinson

**Subject:** Careful yourself

**Date:** May 27, 2011 00:09

**To:** Harry Styles

Because you never stay with me

Six words.

Six little words that make my scalp tingle.

I told him that I didn’t sleep with anyone.

But today was a big day.

He graduated from college.

He said yes.

We went through all those soft limits that he knew nothing about. We fucked. I spanked him. We fucked again.

_Shit._

And before I can stop myself, I grab the garage ticket for my car, pick up a jacket, and I’m out the door.

THE roads are empty and I’m at his place twenty-three minutes later.

I knock quietly, and Malik opens the door.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” he shouts, his eyes blazing with anger.

_Whoa. Not the reception I was expecting._

“I’ve come to see Lou.”

“Well, you can’t!” Malik stands with arms folded and legs braced in the doorway, like a gargoyle.

I try reasoning with him. “But I need to see him. He sent me an e-mail.” _Get out of my way!_

“What the fuck have you done to him now?”

“That’s what I need to find out.” I grit my teeth.

“Ever since he met you, he cries all the time.”

“What?” I can’t deal with his shit anymore, and I barge past him.

“You can’t come in here!” Malik follows me, shrieking like a harpy, as I storm through the apartment to Lou’s bedroom.

I open Louis door and switch on the main light. He’s huddled in his bed, wrapped in his comforter. His eyes are red and puffy, and squinting in the overhead lights. His nose is swollen and blotchy.

I’ve seen men in this state many times, especially after I’ve punished them. But I’m surprised by the unease that grips my gut.

“Jesus, Lou.” I flick the main light off so he doesn’t have to squint and I sit on the bed beside him.

“What are you doing here?” He’s sniffling. I turn on the bedside light.

“Do you want me to throw this asshole out?” Zayn barks from the doorway.

_Fuck you, Malik._ Raising an eyebrow, I pretend to ignore him.

Louis shakes his head, but his watery eyes are on me.

“Just holler if you need me,” Zayn says to Louis, as if he were a child. “Styles,” he snaps, so I’m obliged to look at him. “You’re on my shit list, and I’m watching you.” He sounds shrill, his eyes glinting with fury, but I don’t give a fuck.

Fortunately, he leaves, pulling the door to, but not shutting it. I check in my inside pocket, and once again Mrs. Jones has exceeded all expectations; I fish out the handkerchief and give it to Lou. “What’s going on.”

“Why are you here?” His voice is shaky.

_I don’t know._

_You said you didn’t like me._

“Part of my role is to look after your needs. You said you wanted me to stay, so here I am.” _Nice save, Styles._ “And yet I find you like this.” _You weren’t like this when I left._ “I’m sure I’m responsible, but I have no idea why. Is it because I hit you?”

He struggles to sit up and flinches when he does.

“Did you take some Advil?” As instructed?

He shakes his head.

_When will you do as you’re told?_

I go to find Malik, who’s on the sofa, seething.

“Lou has a headache. Do you have any Advil?”

He raises his eyebrows, surprised, I think, by my concern for his friend. Glowering, he gets up and stomps into the kitchen. After some rustling through boxes he hands me a couple of tablets and a teacup of water.

Back in the bedroom I offer them to Louis and sit on the bed. “Take these.”

He does, his eyes clouded with apprehension.

“Talk to me. You told me you were okay. I’d never have left you if I thought you were like this.” Distracted, he toys with a loose thread on his quilt. “I take it that when you said you were okay, you weren’t.”

“I thought I was fine,” he admits.

“Louis, you can’t tell me what you think I want to hear. That’s not very honest. How can I trust anything you’ve said to me?” This will never work is he’s not honest with me.

The thought is depressing.

_Talk to me, Lou._

“How did you feel when I was hitting you, and after?”

“I didn’t like it. I’d rather you didn’t do it again.”

“You weren’t meant to like it.”

“Why do you like it?” he asks, and his voice is stronger.

_Shit._ I can’t tell him why.

“You really want to know?”

“Oh, trust me, I’m fascinated.” Now he’s being sarcastic.

“Careful,” I warn him.

He pales at my expression. “Are you going to hit me again?”

“No, not tonight.” _I think you’ve had enough._

“So.” He still wants an answer.

“I like the control it gives me, Louis. I want you to behave in a particular way, and if you don’t, I shall punish you, and you will learn to behave the way I desire. I enjoy punishing you. I’ve wanted to spank you since you asked me if I was gay.”

_And I don’t want you rolling your eyes at me, or being sarcastic._

“So, you don’t like the way I am.” His voice is small.

“I think you’re lovely the way you are.”

“So why are you trying to change me?”

I don’t want to change you.” _God forbid. You’re enchanting._ “I’d like you to be courteous and to follow the set of rules I’ve given you and nor defy me. Simple.” _I want you safe._

“But you want to punish me?”

“Yes, I do.”

“That’s what I don’t understand.”

I sigh. “It’s the way I’m made. I need to control you. I need you to behave in a certain way, and if you don’t – “My mind drifts. _I find it arousing, Louis. You did, too. Can’t you accept that? Bending you over my knee…feeling your ass beneath my palm._ “I love to watch your beautiful alabaster skin pink and warm up under my hands. It turns me on.” Just thinking about it stirs my body.

“So it’s not the pain you’re putting me through?”

_Hell._

“A bit, to see if you can take it.” Actually, it’s a lot, but I don’t want to go there right now. If I tell him, he’ll throw me out. “But that’s not the whole reason. It’s the fact that you are mine to do with as I see fit – ultimate control over someone else. And it turns me on. Big-time.”

I must lend him a book or two on being submissive.

“Look, I’m not explaining myself very well. I’ve never had to before. I’ve not really thought about this in any great depth. I’ve always been with like-minded people.” I pause to check he’s still with me. “And you haven’t answered my question – how did you feel afterward?”

He blinks. “Confused.”

“You were sexually aroused by it, Louis.”

_You have an inner freak, Louis. I know it._

Closing my eyes, I recall him hard and wanting around my fingers after I spanked him. When I open them, he’s staring at me, pupils dilated…his tongue moistening his top lip. He wants it, too.

_Shit. Not again, Styles. Not when he’s like this._

“Don’t look at me like that,” I warn, my voice gruff.

His eyebrows rise in surprise.

_You know what I mean, Lou._ “I don’t have any condoms, and you know, you’re upset. Contrary to what your roommate believes, I’m not a priapic monster. So, you felt confused?”

He remains mute.

_Jesus._

“You have no problem being honest with me in print. Your e-mails always tell me exactly how you feel. Why can’t you do that in conversation? Do I intimidate you that much?”

His fingers fiddle with the quilt.

“You beguile me, Harry. Completely overwhelm me. I feel like Icarus, flying too close to the sun.” His voice is quiet, but brimming with emotion.

His confession floors me like a swift kick to the head.

“Well, I think you’ve bewitched me. Isn’t it obvious?”

_That’s why I’m here._

He’s not convinced.

_Lou. Believe me._ “You’ve still not answered my question. Write me an e-mail, please. But right now, I’d really like to sleep. Can I stay?”

“Do you want to stay?”

“You wanted me here.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” he persists.

_Impossible man._ I just drove like a maniac to get here after your fucking message. There’s your answer.

I grumble that I’ll respond by e-mail. I’m not talking about this. This conversation is over.

Before I can change my mind and head back to The Heathman, I stand, empty my pockets, remove my shoes and socks, and strip off my pants. Slinging my jacket over his chair, I climb into his bed.

“Lie down,” I growl.

He complies, and I lean up on my elbow, looking at him. “If you are going to cry, cry in front of me. I need to know.”

“Do you want me to cry?”

“Not particularly. I just want to know how you’re feeling. I don’t want you slipping through my fingers. Switch the light off. It’s late, and we both have to work tomorrow.”

He does.

“Lie on your side, facing away from me.”

_I don’t want you to touch me._

The bed dips as he moves, and I wrap my arm around him and gently pull him against me.

“Sleep, baby,” I murmur, and breathe in the scent of his hair.

_Damn, he smells good._

Lee is running through the grass.

He’s laughing. Loud.

I am running after him. My face is smiling.

I am going to catch him.

There are small trees around us.

Baby trees covered in apples.

Mommy lets me pick the apples.

Mommy lets me eat the apples.

I put the apples in my pockets.

Every pocket.

I hide them in my sweater.

Apples taste good.

Apples smell good.

Mommy makes apple pie.

Apple pie and ice cream.

They make my tummy smile.

I hide the apples in my shoes. I hide them under my pillow.

There is a man. Grandpa Trev-Trev-yan.

His name is hard. Hard to say in my head.

He has another name. Thee-o-door.

Theodore is a funny name.

The baby trees are his trees.

At his house. Where he lives.

He is Mommy’s daddy.

He has a loud laugh. And big shoulders.

And happy eyes.

He runs to catch Lee and me.

_You can’t catch me._

Lee runs. He laughs.

I run. I catch him.

And we fall down in the grass.

He is laughing.

The apples sparkle in the sun.

And they taste good.

Yummy.

And they smell good.

So, so good.

The apples fall.

They fall on me.

I twist and they hit my back.

Stinging me.

_Ow._

But the scent is still there, sweet and crisp.

_Lou._

When I open my eyes, I’m wrapped around him, our limbs entwined. He’s regarding me with a tender smile. His face is no longer blotchy and puffy; he looks radiant. My cock agrees, and stiffens in greeting.

“Good morning.” I’m disoriented. “Jesus, even in my sleep I’m drawn to you.” Stretching out, I disentangle myself from him and scan my surroundings. Of course, we’re in his bedroom. His eyes glow with eager curiosity as my cock presses against him. “Hmm, this has possibilities, but I think we should wait until Sunday.” I nuzzle him just below his ear and lean up on my elbow.

He looks flushed. Warm.

“You’re very hot,” he scolds.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” I grin and flex my hips, teasing him with my favourite body part. He tries a disapproving look but fails miserably – he’s highly amused. Leaning down, I kiss him.

“Sleep well?” I ask.

He nods.

“So did I.”

I’m surprised. I did sleep really well. I tell him so. No nightmares. Only dreams…

“What’s the time?” I ask.

“It’s seven thirty.”

“Seven thirty? Shit!” I leap out of bed and start dragging on my jeans. He watches me dress, trying to suppress his laughter.

“You are such a bad influence on me,” I complain. “I have a meeting. I have to go – I have to be in Portland at eight. Are you smirking at me?”

“Yes,” he admits.

“I’m late. I don’t do late. Another first, Mr Tomlinson.” I tug on my jacket, reach down and take his head into both my hands. “Sunday,” I whisper, and kiss him. I grab my watch, wallet, and money from his bedside table, pick up my shoes, and head for the door. “Taylor will come and sort your Beetle. I was serious. Don’t drive it. I’ll see you at my place on Sunday. I’ll e-mail you a time.”

Leaving him a little dazed, I rush out of the apartment and to my car.

I put on my shoes while I’m driving. Once they’re on I open up the throttle and weave in and out of the traffic heading to Portland. I’ll have to meet Eamon Malik’s associates in my jeans. Thankfully this meeting is via WebEx.

I burst into my room at The Heathman and switch in my laptop. 8:02. _Shit._ I haven’t shaved, but I smooth my hair and straighten my jacket, and hope they don’t notice I’m only wearing a T-shirt underneath.

_Who gives a fuck anyway?_

I open WebEx and Andrea is online, waiting for me. “Good morning, Mr. Styles. Mr. Malik is delayed, but they’re ready for you in New York and here in Seattle.”

“Fred and Barney?” _My Flintstones._ I smirk at the thought.

“Yes, sir. And Ros, too.”

“Great. Thanks.” I’m breathless. I catch Andrea’s fleeting puzzled look and choose to ignore it. “Can you order me a toasted bagel with cream cheese and smoked salmon and coffee, black. Have it sent to my Suite ASAP.”

“Yes, Mr. Styles.” She posts the link to the conference in the window. “Here you go, sir,” she says, I click the link – and I’m in.

“Good morning.” There are two executives seated at a conference table in New York, both gazing expectantly at the camera. Ros, Barney, and Fred are each in separate windows.

To business. Malik says he wants to upgrade his media network to high-speed fiber-optic connections. SEH can do it for them – but are they serious about buying in? It’s a big investment up front, but a great pay off down the line.

While we’re talking an e-mail notification with an arresting title from Lou floats onto the top right corner of my screen. As quickly as I can, I click on it.

**From:** Louis Tomlinson

**Subject:** Assault and Battery: The after-effects

**Date:** May 27 2011, 08:05

**To:** Harry Styles

Dear Mr. Styles,

You wanted to know why I felt confused after you – which euphemism should we apply – spanked, punished, beat, assaulted me.

 

_A tad overdramatic, Mr Tomlinson. You could have said no._

 

Well, during the whole alarming process, I felt demeaned, debased, and abused.

_If you felt that way, why didn’t you stop me? You have safe words._

And much to my mortification, you’re right, I was aroused, and that was unexpected.

_I know. Good. You’ve finally acknowledged it._

As you are well aware, all things sexual are new to me – I only wish I was more experienced and therefore more prepared. I was shocked to feel aroused.

What really worried me was how I felt afterward. And that’s more difficult to articulate. I felt relieved that it wasn’t as painful as I thought it would be. And when I was lying in your arms, I felt…sated.

_As did I, Lou, as did I…_

But I feel very uncomfortable, guilty even, feeling that way. It doesn’t sit well with me, and I’m confused as a result. Does that answer your question?

I hope the world of Mergers and Acquisitions is as stimulating as ever…and that you weren’t too late.

Thank you for staying with me.

Lou

Malik joins the conversation, apologising for his tardiness. While the introductions are made and Fred talks about what SEH can offer, I type out my reply to Lou. I hope to those on the other side of the computer screen it looks like I’m taking notes.

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** Free your mind

**Date:** May 27 2011, 08:24

**To:** Louis Tomlinson

Interesting…if slightly overstated title heading, Mr Tomlinson.

To answer your points:

  * I’ll go with spanking – as that’s what it was.
  * So you felt demeaned, debased, abused, and assaulted – how very Tess Durbeyfield of you. I believe it was you who decided on the debasement, if I remember correctly. Do you really feel like this or do you think you ought to feel like this? Two very different things. If that _is_ how you feel, do you think you could just try to embrace these feelings, deal with them, for me? That’s what a submissive would do.
  * I am grateful for your inexperience. I value it, and I’m only beginning to understand what it means. Simply put…it means that you are mine in every way.
  * Yes, you were aroused, which in turn was very arousing, there’s nothing wrong with that.
  * Happy does not even begin to cover how I felt. Ecstatic joy comes close.
  * Punishment spanking hurts far more than sensual spanking – so that’s about as hard as it gets, unless, of course, you commit some major transgression, in which case I’ll use some implement to punish you with. My hand was very sore. But I like that.
  * I felt sated, too – more so than you could ever know.
  * Don’t waste your energy on guilt, feelings of wrongdoing, etc. We are consenting adults and what we do behind closed doors is between ourselves. You need to free your mind and listen to your body.
  * The world of M&A is not nearly as stimulating as you are, Mr Tomlinson.



Harry Styles,

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

His response is almost immediate.

**From:** Louis Tomlinson

**Subject:** Consenting adults!

**Date:** May 27 2011, 08:26

**To:** Harry Styles

Aren’t you in a meeting?

I’m very glad your hand was sore.

And if I listened to my body, I’d be in Alaska by now.

Lou

P.S I will think about embracing those feelings.

_Alaska! Really, Mr Tomlinson._ I chuckle to myself and look like I’m engaged with the online conversation. There’s a knock on my door, and I apologise for interrupting the conference while I let room service in with my breakfast. Miss Dark, Dark Eyes rewards me with a flirtatious smile as I sign the check.

Returning to the WebEx, I find Fred briefing Malik and his associates on how successful this technology has been for another client company dealing in futures.

“Will the technology help me with the futures market?” Malik asks with a sardonic smile. When I tell him that Barney’s hard at work developing a crystal ball to predict prices, they all have the grace to laugh.

While Fred discusses a theoretical timeline for implementation and tech integration, I e-mail Louis.

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** You didn’t call the cops

**Date:** May 27, 2011 08:35

**To:** Louis Tomlinson

Mr Tomlinson,

I am in a meeting discussing the future market, if you’re really interested.

For the record, you stood beside me knowing what I was going to do.

You didn’t at any time ask me to stop – you didn’t use either safe word.

You are an adult – you have choices.

Quite frankly, I’m looking forward to the next time my palm is ringing with pain.

You’re obviously not listening to the right part of your body.

Alaska is very cold and no place to run. I would find you.

I can track your cell phone – remember?

Go to work.

Harry Styles

CEO, Styles Enterprise Holdings, Inc.

**From:** Louis Tomlinson

**Subject:** Stalker

**Date:** May 27 2011, 08:36

**To:** Harry Styles

Have you sought therapy for your stalker tendencies?

Lou

I smother my laugh. He’s funny.

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** Stalker? Me?

**Date:** May 27 2011, 08:38

**To:** Louis Tomlinson

I pay the eminent Dr. Flynn a small fortune with regard to my stalker and other tendencies.

Go to work.

Harry Styles

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

Why hasn’t he gone to work? He’ll be late

**From:** Louis Tomlinson

**Subject:** Expensive charlatans

**Date:** May 27 2011, 08:40

**To:** Harry Styles

May I humbly suggest you seek a second opinion?

I am not sure that Dr. Flynn is very effective.

Mr Tomlinson

Damn, this man is funny…and intuitive; Flynn charges me a small fortune for his advice. Surreptitiously, I type my response.

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** Second opinions

**Date:** May 27 2011, 08:43

**To:** Louis Tomlinson

Not that it’s any of your business, humble or otherwise, but Dr. Flynn is the second opinion.

You will have to speed, in your new car, putting yourself at unnecessary risk – I think that’s against the rules.

GO TO WORK.

Harry Styles

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

Malik throws me a question about future-proofing. I let him know that we’ve recently acquired a company that’s an innovative, dynamic player in fiber optics. I don’t let him know that I have doubts about the CEO, Lucas Woods. He’ll be gone anyway. I’m definitely firing that idiot, no matter what Ros says.

**From:** Louis Tomlinson

**Subject:** SHOUTY CAPITALS

**Date:** May 27 2011, 08:47

**To:** Harry Styles

As the object of your stalker tendencies, I think it is my business, actually.

I haven’t signed yet. So rules, schmules, And I don’t start until 9:30.

Mr Tomlinson

SHOUTY CAPITALS. I love it.

I respond.

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** Descriptive linguistics

**Date:** May 27 2011, 08:49

**To:** Louis Tomlinson

“Schmules”? Not sure where that appears in Webster’s dictionary.

Harry Styles

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

“We can take this conversation offline,” Ros says to Malik. “Now that we have an idea of your needs and expectations, we’ll prepare a detailed proposal for you and reconvene next week to discuss it.”

“Great,” I say, trying to look engaged.

There are nods of agreement all around, then goodbyes.

“Thanks for giving us the opportunity to quote for this, Eamon,” I address Malik.

“It sounds like you guys know what we need,” he says. “Great to see you yesterday. Goodbye.”

They all hang up except Ros, who’s staring at me as if I’ve grown two heads.

Lou’s e-mail pings into my inbox.

“Hang on, Ros. I need a minute or two.” I mute her.

And read.

And laugh out loud.

**From:** Louis Tomlinson

**Subject:** Descriptive linguistics

**Date:** May 27 2011, 08:52

**To:** Harry Styles

It’s between control freak and stalker. And descriptive linguistics is a hard limit for me.

Will you stop bothering me now?

I’d like to go to work in my new car.

Lou

I type a quick reply.

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** Challenging but amusing

**Date:** May 27 2011, 08:56

**To:** Louis Tomlinson

My palm is twitching.

Drive safely, Mr Tomlinson.

Harry Styles

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

Ros is glaring at me when I unmute her. “What the hell, Harry?”

“What?” I feign innocence.

“You know what. Don’t hold a goddamn meeting when you’re obviously not interested.”

“Was it that obvious?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck.”

“Yes. Fuck. This could be a huge contract for us.”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry.” I grin.

“I don’t know what’s got into you lately.” She shakes her head, but I can tell she’s trying to mask her amusement with exasperation.

“It’s the Portland air.”

“Well, the sooner you’re back here, the better.”

I’m heading back around lunchtime. In the meantime, ask Marco to investigate all the publishing houses in Seattle and see if any are ripe for a takeover.”

“You want to go into publishing?” Ros splutters. “It’s not a high-potential-growth sector.”

She’s probably right.

“Just investigate. That’s all.”

She sighs. “If you insist. Will you be in later this afternoon? We can have a proper catch up.”

“Depends on the traffic.”

“I’ll pencil in a catch up with Andrea.”

“Great. Bye for now.”

I close WebEx, then phone Andrea.

“Mr. Styles.”

“Call Dr. Baxter and have him come to my apartment on Sunday, around midday. If he’s not available, find the next best thing.”

“Yes, sir,” she says. “Anything else?”

“Yes. What’s the name of the personal shopper I use at Neiman Marcus at the Bravern centre?”

“Caroline Acton.”

“Text me her number.”

“Will do.”

“I’ll see you later this afternoon.”

“Yes, sir.”

I hang up.

So far, it’s been one interesting morning. I can’t recall any exchange of e-mails being that fun, ever. I glance at the laptop, but there’s nothing new. Lou must be at work.

I run my hands through my hair.

Ros noticed how distracted I was during that conversation.

_Shit, Styles. Get your act together._

I wolf down my breakfast, drink some cold coffee, and head into my bedroom to shower and change Even when I’m washing my hair, I can’t get that man out of my head. Lou.

_Amazing Louis._

The image of him bouncing up and down on top of me comes to mind; of him lying over my knee, ass oink; of him tethered to the bed, mouth open in ecstasy. Lord, that man is hot. And this morning, waking up next to him, it wasn’t so bad, and I slept well…really well.

_Shouty capitals._ His e-mails make me laugh. They’re entertaining. He’s funny. I never knew I liked that in a man. I’ll need to think about what we’ll do on Sunday in my playroom…something fun, something new for him.

While shaving I have an idea, and as soon as I’m dressed, I get back on my laptop to browse my favourite toy store. I need a riding crop – brown plaited leather. I smirk. I’m going to make Lou’s dreams come true.

Order placed, I turn to work e-mails, energised and productive, until Taylor interrupts me. “Good morning, Taylor.”

“Mr. Styles.” He nods, looking at me with a puzzled expression, and I realise I’m grinning because I’m thinking about his e-mails again.

_Descriptive linguistics is a hard limit for me._

“I’ve had a good morning,” I find myself explaining.

“I’m pleased to hear it, sir. I have Mr. Tomlinson’s laundry from last week.”

“Pack it with my things.”

“Will do.”

“Thank you.” I watch him walk into my bedroom. Even Taylor is noticing the Louis Tomlinson effect. My phone buzzes: It’s a text message from Liam.

You still in Portland?

Yes. But I’m leaving soon.

I’ll be there later. I’m gonna help the boys move. Shame you can’t stay. Our first DOUBLE DATE since Lou popped your cherry.

Fuck off. I’m picking up Gemma.

I need deets bro. Zayn tells me nothing.

Good. Fuck off. Again.

“Mr. Styles?” Taylor interrupts once more, my luggage in hand. “The courier has been dispatched with the Blackberry.”

“Thanks.”

He nods, and as he leaves, I type up another e-mail to Mr Tomlinson.

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** BlackBerry ON LOAN

**Date:** May 27, 2011 11:15

**To:** Louis Tomlinson

I need to be able to contact you at all times, and since this is your most honest form of communication, I figured you needed a BlackBerry.

Harry Styles

CEO, Styles Enterprise Holdings, Inc.

And maybe you’ll answer this phone when I call.

At 11:30 I have another conference call, with our director of finance, to discuss SHE’s charitable giving for the next quarter. That takes the best part of an hour, and when it’s over I finish a light lunch and read the rest of my _Forbes_ magazine.

As I swallow the last forkful of salad, I realise I have no other reason to stay at the hotel. It’s time to go, yet I’m reluctant. And deep down I have to acknowledge it’s because I won’t see Louis until Sunday, unless he changes his mind.

Fuck. I hope not.

Pushing that unpleasant thought aside, I start packing my papers into my messenger bag, and when I reach for my laptop to put it away, I see there’s an e-mail from Lou.

**From:** Louis Tomlinson

**Subject:** Consumerism gone mad

**Date:** May 27, 2011 13:22

**To:** Harry Styles

I think you need to call Dr. Flynn right now.

Your stalker tendencies are running wild.

I am at work. I will e-mail you when I get home.

Thank you for yet another gadget.

I wasn’t wrong when I said you were the ultimate consumer.

Why do you do this?

Lou

He’s scolding me! I respond immediately.

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** Sagacity from one so young

**Date:** May 27, 2011 13:24

**To:** Louis Tomlinson

Fair point well made, as ever, Mr. Tomlinson.

Dr. Flynn is on vacation.

And I do this because I can.

Harry Styles

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

He doesn’t answer straight away, so I pack my laptop. Grabbing my bag, I head down to reception and check out. While I’m waiting for my car, Andrea calls to tell me that she’s found an acceptable Doctor to come to Escala on Sunday.

“Her name is Dr. Greene, and she comes highly recommended by your M.D., sir.”

“Good.”

“She runs her practice out of Northwest.”

“Okay.” Where is Andre going with this?

“There’s one thing sir – she’s expensive.”

I dismiss her concern. “Andrea, whatever she wants is fine.”

“In that case, she can be at your apartment one thirty on Sunday.”

“Great. Go ahead.”

“Will do, Mr. Styles.”

I hang up, and I’m tempted to call my mother to check Dr. Greene’s credentials, as they work in the same hospital; but that might provoke too many questions from Anne.

Once in the car I send Louis an e-mail with details about Sunday.

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** Sunday

**Date:** May 27, 2011 13:40

**To:** Louis Tomlinson

Shall I see you at 1 p.m. Sunday?

The doctor will be at Escala to see you at 1:30.

I’m leaving for Seattle now.

I hope your move goes well, and I look forward to Sunday.

Harry Styles

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

_Right._ All done. I ease the R8 onto the road and roar toward I-5. As I pass the exit for Vancouver I’m inspired. I call Andrea on the hands-free and ask her to organise a house warming present for Louis and Zayn.

“What would you like to send?”

“Bollinger La Grande Annee Rose, 1999 vintage.”

“Yes, sir. Anything else?”

“What do you mean, anything else?”

“Flowers? Chocolates? A balloon?”

“Balloon?”

“Yes.”

“What sort of balloons?”

“Well…they have everything.”

“Okay. Good idea – see if you can get a helicopter balloon.”

“Yes, sir. And a message for the card?”

“’Gentleman, good luck in your new home. Harry Styles.’ Got that?”

“I have. What’s the address?”

_Shit._ I don’t know. “I’ll text it to you either today or tomorrow. Will that work?”

“Yes, sir. I can get it delivered tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Andrea.”

“You’re welcome.” She sounds surprised.

I hang up and floor my R8.

BY 6:30 I’m home and my earlier ebullient mood has soured – I still haven’t heard from Louis. I select a pair of cuff links from the drawers in my closet and as I knot my bow tie for the night’s event, I wonder is he’s okay. He said he would contact me when he got home; I’ve called him twice, but I’ve heard nothing, and it’s pissing me off. I try him once more and this time I leave a message.

“I think you need to learn to manage my expectations. I’m not a patient man. If you say you are going to contact me when you finish work, then you should have the decency to do so. Otherwise I worry, and it’s not an emotion I’m familiar with, and I don’t tolerate it very well. Call me.”

If he doesn’t call soon, I am going to explode.

I’M seated at a table with Whelan, my banker. I’m his guest at a charity function for a non-profit that aims to raise awareness of global poverty.

“Glad you could make it,” Whelan says.

“It’s a good cause.”

“And thank you for your generous contribution, Mr. Styles.” His wife is cloying, thrusting her perfect, surgically enhanced breasts in my direction.

“Like I said, it’s a good cause.” I give her a patronising smile.

_Why hasn’t Louis called me back?_

I check my phone again.

Nothing.

I look around the table at all the middle-aged men with their second or third trophy wives. God forbid this should ever be me.

I’m bored. Seriously bored and seriously pissed.

_What is he doing?_

Could I have brought him here? I suspect he would have been bored stiff, too. When the conversation around the table moves to the state of the economy, I’ve had enough. Making my excuses, I leave the ballroom and exit the hotel. While the valet is retrieving my car, I call Lou again.

There’s still no answer.

Perhaps now that I’m gone, he wants nothing to do with me.

When I get home, I head straight to my study and switch on the iMac.

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** Where are you?

**Date:** May 27, 2011 22:14

**To:** Louis Tomlinson

“I am at work. I will e-mail you when I get home.”

Are you still at work or have you packed your phone, BlackBerry, and MacBook?

Call me, or I may be forced to call Liam.

Harry Styles

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I stare out of my window toward the dark waters of the Sound. Why did I volunteer to collect Gemma? I could be with Lou, helping him pack all his shit, then going out for pizza with him and Zayn and Liam – or whatever ordinary people do.

_For God’s sake, Styles._

That’s not you. _Get a grip._

I wander around my apartment, my footsteps echoing through the living room, and it seems achingly empty since I was last here. I undo my bow tie. Perhaps it’s me that’s empty. I pour myself an Armagnac and stare back out at the Seattle skyline toward the Sound.

Are you thinking about me, Louis Tomlinson? The winking lights of Seattle has no answer.

My phone buzzes.

Thank. Fuck. _Finally._ It’s him.

“Hi.” I’m relieved that he’s called.

“Hi,” he says.

“I was worried about you.”

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t reply, but I’m fine.”

_Fine? I wish I was…_

“Did you have a pleasant evening?” I ask, reining in my temper.

“Yes. We finished packing, and Zayn and I had Chinese takeout with Niall.”

_Oh, this just gets better and better. The fucking photographer again._ That’s why he hasn’t called.

“How about you?” he inquires when I don’t respond, and there’s a hint of desperation in his voice.

_Why? What isn’t he telling me?_

_Oh, stop overthinking this, Styles!_

I sigh. “I went to a fund-raising dinner. It was deathly dull. I left as soon as I could.”

“I wish you were here,” he whispers.

“Do you?”

“Yes,” he says fervently.

_Oh._ Perhaps he’s missed me.

“I’ll see you on Sunday?” I confirm, trying to keep the hope out of my voice.

“Yes, Sunday,” he says, and I think he’s smiling.

“Good night.”

“Good night, sir.” His voice is husky and it takes my breath away.

“Good luck with your move tomorrow, Louis.”

He stays on the line, his breathing soft. Why doesn’t he hang up? He doesn’t want to?

“You hang up,” he whispers.

He doesn’t want to hang up and my mood lightens immediately. I grin out at the view of Seattle.

“No, you hang up.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Neither do I.”

“Were you very angry with me?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Are you still?”

“No.” _Now I know you’re safe._

“So you’re not going to punish me?”

“No. I’m an in-the-moment kind of guy.”

“I’ve noticed,” he teases, and that makes me smile.

“You can hang up now, Mr. Tomlinson.”

“Do you really want me to, Sir?”

“Go to bed, Louis.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He doesn’t hang up, and I know he’s grinning. It lifts my spirits higher. “Do you ever think you’ll be able to do as you’re told?” I ask.

“Maybe. We’ll see after Sunday,” he says, temptress that he is, and the line goes dead.

Louis Tomlinson, what am I going to do with you?

Actually, I have a good idea, provided that riding crop turns up in time. And with that enticing thought I toss down the rest of the Armagnac and got to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big love x


	13. Gemma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi.. again.
> 
> Really teeny, tiny chapter :( But still, two updates in one day :)
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Not my story line, not my characters!

** SATURDAY, MAY 28, 2011 **

“Harry!” Gemma squeals with delight and runs towards me, abandoning her cartload of luggage. Throwing her arms around my neck, she hugs me tightly.

“I’ve missed you,” she says.

“I’ve missed you, too.” I give her a squeeze in return. She leans back and examines me with intense dark eyes.

“You look good,” she gushes. “Tell me about this boy!”

“Let’s get your luggage home first.” I grab her cart, which weighs a ton, and together we head out of the airport terminal toward the parking lot.

“So how was Paris? You appear to have brought most of it home with you.”

“ _C’est incroyable!”_ she exclaims. “Floubert, on the other hand, was a bastard. _Jesus._ He was a horrible man. A crap teacher but a good chef.”

“Does that mean you’re cooking this evening?”

“Oh, I was hoping mom would cook.”

Gemma proceeds to talk nonstop about Paris: Montmartre, Parisians, coffee, red wine, cheese, fashion, shopping. But mainly about fashion and shopping. And I thought she went to Paris to learn to cook.

I’ve missed her chatter; it’s soothing and welcome. She is the only person I know who doesn’t make me feel…different.

_“This is your baby sister, Harry. Her name is Gemma.”_

_Mommy lets me hold her. She is very small. With black, black hair._

_She smiles. She has no teeth. I stick out my tongue. She has a bubbly laugh._

_Mommy lets me hold the baby again. Her name is Gemma._

_I make her laugh. I hold her and hold her. She is safe when I hold her._

_Liam is not interested in Gemma. She dribbles and cries._

_And he wrinkles his nose when she does a poop. When Gemma is crying Liam ignores her. I hold her and hold her until she stops._

_She falls asleep in my arms._

_“Gem a,” I whisper._

_“What did you say?” Mommy asks, and her face is white like chalk._

_“Gem a.”_

_“Yes. Yes. Darling boy. Gemma. Her name is Gemma.”_

_And mommy starts to cry with happy, happy tears._

I TURN into the driveway, pull up outside Mom and Dad’s front door, unload Gemma’s luggage, and carry it into the hall.

“Where is everyone?” Gemma is in full pout. The only person around is my parents’ house keeper – she’s an exchange student, and I can’t remember her name. “Welcome home,” she says to Gemma in her stilted English, though she’s looking at me with big cow eyes.

_Oh, God. It’s just a pretty face, sweetheart._

Ignoring the housekeeper, I address Gemma’s question. “I think Mom is on call and Dad is at a conference. You did come home a week early.”

“I couldn’t stand Floubert another minute. I had to get out while I could. Oh, I bought you a present.” She grabs one of her cases, opens it up in the hallway, and starts rummaging through it. “Ah!” She hands me a heavy square box. “Open it,” she urges, beaming at me. She is an unstoppable force.

Warily I open the box, and inside I find a snow globe containing a black grand piano covered in glitter. It’s the kitschiest thing I’ve ever seen.

“It’s a music box. Here – “She takes it from me, gives it a good shake, and winds a small key at the bottom. A twinkly version of “La Marseillaise” starts to play in a cloud of coloured glitter.

What am I going to do with this? I laugh, because it’s so Gemma. “That’s great, Gem. Thank you.” I give her a hug and she hugs me back.

“I knew it would make you laugh.”

She’s right. She knows me well.

“So, tell me about this boy,” she says. But we’re both distracted as Anne hurries through the door, allowing me a reprieve as mother and daughter embrace. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to meet you, darling,” Anne says. “I’ve been on call. You look so grown up. Harry, can you take Gem’s bags upstairs? Gretchen will give you a hand.”

_Really? I’m her porter now?_

“Yes, Mom.” I roll my eyes; I don’t need Gretchen mooning over me.

Once that’s all done, I tell them that I have an appointment with my trainer. “I’ll be back this evening.” Quickly kissing them both, I leave before I’m pestered with more questions about Louis.

BASTILLE, my trainer, works me hard. Today we’re kickboxing at his gym.

“You’ve gone soft in Portland, boy.” He sneers after I’m toppled onto the mat from his roundhouse kick. Bastille is from the hard-knocks school of physical training, which suits me fine.

I scramble to my feet. I want to take him down. But he’s right – he’s all over my shit today, and I get nowhere.

When we finish, he asks, “What gives? You’re distracted, man.”

“Life. You know,” I answer with an air of indifference.

“sure. You’re back in Seattle this week?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. We’ll straighten you out.”

AS I job back to the apartment, I remember the housewarming present for Louis. I text Liam.

What’s Lou and Zayn’s address? I want to surprise them with a present.

He texts me back an address and I forward it to Andrea. As I’m riding in the elevator up to the penthouse, Andrea texts me back.

Champagne and balloon sent. A.

Taylor hands me a package when I arrive back at the apartment. “This came for you, Mr. Styles.”

_Oh yes_. I recognise the anonymous wrapping: it’s the riding crop.

“Thanks.”

“Mrs. Jones said she’d be back tomorrow, late afternoon.”

“Okay. I think that’s all for today, Taylor.”

“Very good, sir,” he says with a polite smile, and returns to his office. Taking the crop, I stroll into my bedroom. This will be perfect introduction to my world: by his own admission Lou has no sphere of reference with regard to corporal punishment, except the spanking I gave him that night. And that turned him on. With the crop, I’ll have to take it slow and make it pleasurable.

_Really pleasurable._ The riding crop is perfect. I’ll prove to him that the fear is in his head. Once he gets comfortable with this, we can move on.

_I hope we can move on…_

We’ll take it slow. And we’ll only do what he can handle. If this is going to work, we’re going to have to go at his pace. Not mine.

I take one more look at the crop and put it in my closet for tomorrow.

AS I flip open my laptop to start work my phone rings. I hope it’s Lou, but it’s disappointingly Nick.

_Was I supposed to call him?_

“Hello, Harry. How are you?”

“Good, thanks.”

“You’re back from Portland?”

“Yes.”

“Fancy dinner tonight?”

“Not tonight. Gemma’s just in from Paris and I’ve been ordered home.”

“Ah. By Mama Styles. How is she?”

“Mama Styles? She’s good. I think. Why? What do you know that I don’t?”

“I was just asking, Harry. Don’t be so touchy.”

“I’ll call you next week. Maybe we can do dinner then.”

“Good. You’ve been off the radar for a while. And I’ve met a man who I think might meet your needs.”

So have I.

I ignore his comment. “I’ll see you next week. Good-bye.”

As I shower, I wonder if having to chase Louis has made him more interesting…or is it Louis himself?

DINNER has been fun. My sister is back, the princess she’s always been, the rest of the family merely her minions, wrapped around her little finger. With all her children home, Anne is in her element; she’s cooked Gemma’s favourite meal – buttermilk friend chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy.

I have to say, it’s one of my favourites, too.

“Tell me about Louis,” Gemma demands as we sit around the kitchen table. Liam leans back in his chair and rests his hands behind his head.

“This I have to hear. You know he popped his cherry?”

“Liam!” Anne scolds, and swats him with a dish towel.

“Ow!” He fends her off.

I roll my eyes at all of them. “I met a boy.” I shrug. “End of story.”

“You can’t just say that!” Gemma objects, pouting.

“Gemma, I think he can. And he just did.” Carrick gives her a reproving paternal stare over his glasses.

“You’ll all meet him at dinner tomorrow, won’t we Harry?” Anne says with a pointed smile.

_Oh, fuck._

“Zayn’s coming,” Liam goads.

_Fucking stirrer._ I glare at him.

“I can’t wait to meet him. He sounds awesome!” Gemma bounces up and down in her chair.

“Yeah, yeah,” I mumble, wondering if there’s any way I can wriggle out of dinner tomorrow.

“Nick was asking after you, darling,” Anne says.

“He was?” I affect an uninterested air, developed over years of practice.

“Yes. He says he hasn’t seen you in a while.”

“I’ve been in Portland on business. Speaking of which, I should get going – I have an important call tomorrow and I need to prepare.”

“But you’ve not had dessert. And it’s apple cobbler.”

_Hmm…tempting._ But if I stay, they’ll quiz me about Louis. “I have to go. I have work to do.”

“Darling, you work too hard,” Anne says, as she starts from her chair.

“Don’t get up, Mom. I’m sure Liam will help with the dishes after dinner.”

“What?” Liam scowls. I wink at him, say my goodbyes, and turn to leave.

“But we’ll see you tomorrow?” Anne asks, too much hope in her voice.

“We’ll see.”

_Shit._ Looks like Louis Tomlinson is going to meet my family.

I don’t know how I feel about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that fed your appetite until the next chapter x


	14. Trust me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiii
> 
> Enjoy :)
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Not my storyline, not my characters

** SUNDAY, MAY 29, 2011 **

With the Rolling Stones’ “Shake Your Hips” blasting in my ears, I sprint down Fourth Avenue and turn right on Vine. It’s 6:45 in the morning, and it’s downhill all the way…to his apartment. I’m drawn; I just want to see where he lives.

_It’s between control freak and stalker._

I chuckle to myself. I’m just running. It’s a free country.

The apartment block is a nondescript red-brick, with dark green painted window frames typical of the area. It’s in a good location near the intersection of Vine Street and Western. I imagine Lou curled up in his bed under his comforter and his cream-and-blue quilt.

I run several blocks and turn down into the market; the vendors are setting up for business. I dodge between the fruit and vegetable trucks and the refrigerated vans delivering the catch of the day. This is the heart of the city – vibrant, even this early on a gray, cool morning. The water on the Sound is a glassy leaden colour, matching the sky. But it des nothing to dampen my spirits.

Today’s the day.

AFTER my shower I don jeans and a linen shirt, and from the chest of drawers I take out a hair tie. I slip it into my pocket and head into my study to e-mail Lou.

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** My life in numbers

**Date:** May 29, 2011 08:04

**To:** Louis Tomlinson

If you drive, you’ll need this access code for the underground garage at Escala: 146963.

Park in bay five – it’s one of mine.

Code for the elevator. 1880.

Harry Styles,

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

A moment or two later, there’s a response.

**From:** Louis Tomlinson

**Subject:** An excellent vintage

**Date:** May 29, 2011 08:08

**To:** Harry Styles

Yes, Sir. Understood.

Thank you for the champagne and the blow-up _Charlie Tango_ , which is now tied to my bed.

Lou

An image of Louis tethered to his bed with my tie comes to mind. I shift in my chair. I hope he’s brought that bed to Seattle.

**From:** Harry Styles

**Subject:** Envy

**Date:** May 29, 2011 08:11

**To:** Louis Tomlinson

You’re welcome.

Don’t be late.

Lucky _Charlie Tango._

Harry Styles,

CEO, Styles Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

He doesn’t respond, so I hunt through the refrigerator for some breakfast. Gail has left me some croissants and, for lunch, a Caesar salad with chicken, enough for two. I hope Lou will eat this; I don’t mind having it two days in a row.

Taylor appears while I’m eating my breakfast.

“Good morning, Mr. Styles. Here are the Sunday papers.”

“Thanks. Louis is coming over at one today, and Dr. Greene at one thirty.”

“Very good, sir. Anything else on the agenda today?”

“Yes. Louis and I will be going to my parents for dinner this evening.”

Taylor cocks his head, looking momentarily surprised, but he remembers himself and leaves the room. I return to my croissant and apricot jam.

_Yeah. I’m taking him to meet my parents._

_What’s the big deal?_

I CAN’T settle. I’m restless. It’s 12:15 p.m. Time is crawling today. I give up on work and, grabbing the Sunday papers, wander back into the living room, where I switch on some music and read.

To my surprise there’s a photograph of Lou and me on the local news page, taken at the graduation ceremony at WSU. He looks lovely, if a little startled.

I hear the double doors open, and there he is…His hair is loose, a little wild and sexy, and he’s wearing that purple shirt he wore to dinner at The Heathman. He looks gorgeous.

_Bravo, Mr. Tomlinson._

“Hmm, that shirt.” My voice is full of admiration as I saunter toward him. “Welcome back, Mr Tomlinson,” I whisper, and, holding his chin, I give him a tender kiss on the lips.

“Hi,” he says, his cheeks a little rosy.

“You’re on time. I like punctual. Come.”

Taking his hand, I lead him to the sofa. “I wanted to show you something.” We both sit, and I pass him _The Seattle Times_. The photograph makes him laugh. Not quite the reaction I was expecting.

“So, I’m your ‘friend’ now,” he teases.

“So it would appear. And it’s in the newspaper, so it must be true.”

I’m calmer now that he’s here – probably _because_ he’s here. He hasn’t run. I tuck a piece of unruly soft, silky hair behind his ear; my fingers are itching to brush it.

“So, Louis, you have a much better idea of what I’m about since you were last here.”

“Yes.” His gaze is intense…knowing.

“And yet you’ve returned.”

He nods, giving me a coy smile.

I can’t believe my luck.

_I knew you were a freak, Lou._

“Have you eaten?”

“No.”

_Not at all?_ Okay. We’ll have to fix this. I drag my hand through my hair, and in as even a tone as I can manage, I ask, “Are you hungry?”

“Not for food,” he teases.

_Whoa._ He might as well be addressing my groin.

Leaning forward, I press my lips to his ear and catch his intoxicating scent. “You are as eager as ever, Mr Tomlinson – and just to let you in on a little secret, so am I. But Dr. Greene is due here shortly.”

I lean against the sofa. “I wish you’d eat.” It’s a plea.

“What can you tell me about Dr. Greene?” He deftly changes the subject.

“She’s one of the best female doctors in Seattle. What more can I say?”

_That’s what my doctor told my P.A, anyway._

“I thought I was seeing _your_ doctor? And don’t tell me you’re really a woman, because I won’t believe you.”

I supress my snort. “I think it’s more appropriate you see a specialist. Don’t you?”

He gives me a quizzical look, but he nods.

_One more topic to tackle._ “Louis, my mother would like you to come to dinner this evening. I believe Liam is asking Zayn, too. I don’t know how you feel about that. It will be odd for me to introduce you to my family.”

He takes a second to process the information, then tosses his hair from one side to the other, in that way he does before a fight. “Are you ashamed of me?” He sounds chocked.

_Oh, for heaven’s sake._ “Of course not.” _Of all the ridiculous things to say!_ I glare at him, aggrieved. How can he think that about himself?

“Why is it odd?” he asks.

“Because I’ve never done it before.” I sound irritable.

“Why are you allowed to roll your eyes, and I’m not?”

“I wasn’t aware that I was.” _He’s calling me out. Again._

“Neither am I, usually,” he snaps.

_Shit. Are we arguing?_

Taylor clears his throat. “Dr. Greene is here, sir,” he says.

“Show her up to Mr. Tomlinson’s room.”

Lou turns and looks at me and I hold out my hand to him.

“You’re not going to come as well, are you?” He’s horrified and amused at once.

I laugh, and my body stirs. “I’d pay very good money to watch, believe me, Louis, But I don’t think the good doctor would approve.” He places his hand in mine, and I pull him up into my arms and kiss him. His mouth is soft and warm and inviting; my hands glide into his hair and I deepen the kiss. When I pull away, he looks dazed. I press my forehead to his. “I’m so glad you’re here. I can’t wait to get you naked.” _I can’t believe how much I’ve missed you._ “Come on. I want to meet Dr. Greene, too.”

“You don’t know her?”

“No.”

I take Louis’ hand and we head upstairs, to what will be his bedroom.

Dr. Greene has one of those myopic stares; it’s penetrating and that makes me a tad uncomfortable. “Mr. Styles,” he says, shaking my outstretched hand with a firm, no-nonsense grip.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice.” I flash her my most benign smile.

“Thank you for making it worth my while, Mr. Styles. Mr. Tomlinson,” she says politely to Louis, and I know she’s sizing up our relationship. I’m sure she thinks I should be twiddling a moustache like a silent-movie villain. She turns and gives me a pointed “leave now” kind of look.

_Okay._

“I’ll be downstairs,” I acquiesce. Though I would like to watch. I’m sure the good doctor’s reaction would be priceless if I made that request. I smirk at the thought and head downstairs to the living room.

Now that Lou’s no longer with me, I’m restless again. As a distraction I set the counter with two placemats. It’s the second time I’ve done this, and the first time was for Lou, too.

_You’re going soft, Styles._

I select a Chablis to have with lunch – one of the few chardonnays I like – and when I’m done, I take a seat on the sofa and browse through the sports section of the paper. Turning up the volume via the remote for my iPod, I hope the music will help me focus on stats from last night’s Mariners win against the Yankees, rather than what’s happening upstairs between Louis and Dr. Greene.

Eventually their footsteps echo in the corridor, and I look up as they enter. “Are you done?” I ask, and hit the remote for the iPod, to quiet the aria.

“Yes, Mr. Styles. Look after him; he’s a beautiful, bright young man.”

_What has Louis told her?_

“I fully intend to,” I say, with a quick what-the-fuck glance at Lou.

He bats his lashes, clueless. _Good._ It’s nothing he’s said, then.

“I’ll send you my bill,” says Dr. Greene.

“Good day, and good luck to you, Lou.” The edges of her eyes crinkle with a warm smile as we shake hands.

Taylor escorts her toward the elevator and wisely closes the double doors to the foyer.

“How was that?” I ask, a little bemused by Dr. Greene’s words.

“Fine, thank you,” Louis answers. “She said that I had to abstain from all sexual activity for the next four weeks.”

_What the hell?_ I gape at him in shock.

Lou’s earnest expression dissolves into one of taunting triumph. “Gotcha!”

_Well played, Tomlinson._

My eyes narrow and his grin vanishes.

“Gotcha!” I can’t help my smirk. Reaching around his waist, I pull him against me, my body hungering for his. “You are incorrigible, Mr. Tomlinson.” I weave my hands through his hair and kiss him hard, wondering if I should fuck him over the kitchen counter as a lesson.

_All in good time, Styles._

“As much as I’d like to take you here and now, you need to eat and so do I. I don’t want you passing out on me later,” I whisper.

“Is that all you want me for – my body?” he asks.

“That and your smart mouth.” I kiss him once more, thinking of what’s to come…My kiss deepens and desire hardens my body. I want this man. Before I fuck him on the floor, I release him, and we’re both breathless.

“What’s the music?” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Villa-Lobos, an aria from _Bachianas Brasileiras._ Good, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he says, gazing at the breakfast bar. I take the chicken Caesar out of the fridge, place it on the table between the place-mats, and ask him if he’s okay with salad.

“Yes, fine, thank you.” He smiles.

From the wine fridge I take out the Chablis, feeling his eyes on me. I didn’t know I could be so domestic. “What are you thinking?” I ask.

“I was just watching the way you move.”

“And?” I ask, momentarily surprised.

“You’re very graceful,” he says quietly, his cheeks pink.

“Why, thank you, Mr. Tomlinson.” I sit beside him, unsure how to respond to his sweet compliment. Nobody’s called me graceful before. “Chablis?”

“Please.”

“Help yourself to salad. Tell me – what method did you opt for?”

“Mini pill,” he says.

“And will you remember to take it regularly, at the right time, every day?”

A blush steals across his surprised face.

“I’m sure you’ll remind me,” he says with a hint of sarcasm, which I choose to ignore.

_You should have had the shot._

“I’ll put an alarm on my calendar. Eat.”

He takes a bite, then another…and another. He’s eating!

“So, can I put chicken Caesar on the list for Mrs. Jones?” I ask.

“I thought I’d be doing the cooking.”

“Yes. You will.”

He finishes before I do. He must have been starving.

“Eager as ever, Mr. Tomlinson?”

“Yes,” he says, giving me a demure look from beneath his lashes.

_Fuck. There it is._

The attraction.

As if under his spell, I get up and tug him into my arms.

“Do you want to do this?” I whisper, inwardly begging him to say yes.

“I haven’t signed anything.”

“I know – but I’m breaking all the rules these days.”

“Are you going to hit me?”

“Yes, but it won’t be to hurt you. I don’t want to punish you right now. If you’d caught me yesterday evening, well, that would have been a different story.”

His face turns to shock.

_Oh, baby._ “Don’t let anyone try to convince you otherwise, Louis. One of the reasons people like me to do this is because we either like to give or receive pain. It’s very simple. You don’t, so I spent a great deal of time yesterday thinking about that.”

I wrap my arms around him, holding him against my hardening erection.

“Did you reach any conclusions?” he whispers.

“No, and right now, I just want to tie you up and fuck you senseless. Are you ready for that?”

His expression is darker, sensual, and full of carnal curiosity. “Yes,” he says, the word as soft as a sigh.

_Thank fuck._

“Good. Come.” I lead him upstairs and into my playroom. My safe place. Where I can do what I wish with him. I close my eyes, briefly savouring the exhilaration.

_Have I ever been this excited?_

Pushing the door shut behind us, I release his hand and study him. His lips are parted as he inhales; his breathing is quick and shallow. His eyes are wide. Ready. Waiting.

“When you’re in here, you are completely mine. To do with as I see fit. Do you understand?”

His tongue quickly licks his upper lip, and he nods.

_Good boy._

“Take your shoes off.”

He swallows and proceeds to take off his adidas trainers. _Cute._ I pick them up and put them neatly at the door.

“Good. Don’t hesitate when I ask you to do something. Now I’m going to peel you out of this shirt. Something I’ve wanted to do for days, if I recall.”

I pause, checking that he’s still with me.

“I want you to be comfortable with your body, Louis. You have a beautiful body, and I like to look at it. It is a joy to behold. In fact, I could gaze at you all day, and I want you unembarrassed and unashamed of your nakedness. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” My tone is sharper.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Do you mean that?” _I want you unashamed, Lou._

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Lift your arms up over your head.”

Slowly he raises his arms in the air. I grab the hem and gently pull the shirt up his body, revealing it inch my inch, for my eyes only. I make quick work of unbuttoning his jeans and asking him to step out of them. When it’s all off, I stand back so I can have my fill of him.

Legs, thighs, belly, ass, chest, shoulders, face, mouth…he’s perfect. Folding his shirt, I place It on the toy chest. Reaching up, I tug his chin. “You’re biting your lip. You know what it does to me,” I scold. “Turn around.”

He complies and turns to face the door. I stand close, not quite touching him, listening to his rapid breathing and sensing the warmth radiating off his skin. He’s excited and he’s not the only one. I gather a clump of his hair to wrap through my fingers and tug, angling his head to one side and exposing his neck to my mouth.

I run my nose from his ear to his shoulder and back again, inhaling his heavenly scent.

_Fuck, he smells good._

“You smell as divine as ever, Louis.” I place a kiss beneath his ear just above his pulse.

He moans.

“Quiet. Don’t make a sound.”

With a quick tug to his hair, forcing him to step back and press his body into mine. I whisper, “Turn around.”

He does so, immediately.

“When I tell you to come in here, this is how you will dress. Just you in your underwear. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good boy.” He’s learning fast. His arms are by his sides, his eyes trained in mine. Waiting.

“When I tell you to come in here, I expect you to kneel over there.” I point to the corner of the room beside the door. “Do it now.”

He blinks a couple of times, but before I have to tell him again, he turns and kneels, facing me and the room.

I give him permission to sit back on his heels and he obliges. “Place your hands and forearms flat on your thighs. Good. Now part your knees. Wider.” _I want to see you, baby._

“Wider.” _See your sex._ “Perfect. Look down at the floor.”

_Don’t look at me or the room. You can sit there and let your thoughts run wild while you imagine what I’m going to do to you._

I walk over to him, and I’m pleased that he keeps his head bowed. Reaching down, I tug his hair, tilting his head so that our eyes meet. “Will you remember this position, Louis?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Stay here, don’t move.”

Walking past him, I open the door and for a moment look back at him. His head is bowed; his eyes stay fixed on the floor.

What a welcome sight. _Good boy._

I want to run, but I contain my eagerness and walk purposefully downstairs to my bedroom.

_Maintain some fucking dignity, Styles._

In my closet I strip off all my clothes and from a drawer pull out my favourite jeans. My DJs. Dom jeans.

I slip them on and fasten all the buttons except the top one. From the same drawer I retrieve the new riding crop and a gray waffle robe. As I leave, I grab a few condoms and stuff them into my pocket.

_Here goes._

_Showtime, Styles._

When I get back, he’s in the same position: his head bowed, his hair loose, his hands on his knees. I close the door and hang the robe on its hooks. I walk past him. “Good boy, Louis. You look lovely like that. Well done. Stand up.”

He stands, keeping his head down.

“You may look at me.”

Eager blue eyes peek up.

“I’m going to chain you now, Louis. Give me your right hand.” I hold out mine and he places his hand in it. Without taking my eyes off his I turn his hand palm up, and from behind my back produce the riding crop. I quickly flick the end across his palm. He startles and cups his hand, blinking at me in surprise.

“How does that feel?” I ask.

His breathing accelerates, and he glances at me before looking back at his palm.

“Answer me.”

“Okay.” His brows knit together.

“Don’t frown,” I warn. “Did that hurt?”

“No.”

“This is not going to hurt. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” His voice is a little shaky.

“I mean it,” I stress, and I show him the crop. _Brown plaited leather. See? I listen._ His eyes meet mine, astonished. My lips twitch in amusement.

“We aim to please, Mr. Tomlinson. Come.”

I lead him to the middle of the room, beneath the restraining system. “This grid is designed so the shackles move across the grid.” He stares up at the intricate system, then back at me.

“We’re going to start here, but I want to fuck you standing up. So we’ll end up by the wall over there.” I point to the Saint Andrew’s cross. “Put your hands above your head.”

He does, immediately. Taking the leather cuffs that hang on the grid, I fasten one to each of his wrists in turn. I’m methodical, but he’s distracting. Being this close to him, sensing his excitement, his anxiety, touching him. I find it hard to concentrate. Once he’s cuffed, I step back and take a deep breath, relieved.

_Finally, I’ve got you where I want you, Lou Tomlinson._

Slowly I walk around him, admiring the view. Could he look hotter? “You look mighty fine trussed up like this, Mr. Tomlinson. And your smart mouth quiet for now. I like that.” I stop, facing him, curl my fingers into his underwear, and oh so gently drag them down his long legs until Im kneeling at his feet.

Worshipping him. He’s glorious.

With my eyes locked on his, I take his underwear, crush them to my nose, and inhale deeply. His mouth pops open and his eyes widen in amused shock.

_Yes._ I smirk. _Perfect reaction._

I slip the underwear into the back pocket of my jeans and stand, considering my next move. Holding out the crop, I run it over his belly and gently circle his navel with the keeper…the leather tongue. He sucks in his breath and tremors at the touch.

_This will be good, Lou. Trust me._

Slowly I begin to circle him, drawing the crop across his skin, across his belly, his back. On my second circuit I flick the tongue at the base of his behind so it makes sharp contact with his cock.

“Ah!” he cries, and he tugs against the shackles.

“Quiet,” I warn, and prowl around him once more. I flick the crop against him in the same sweet spot and he whines on contact, his eyes closed as he absorbs the sensation.

With another twitch of my wrist, the crop snaps against his nipple. He throws his head back and moans. I aim again, and the crop licks his other nipple, and I watch it harden and lengthen beneath the bite of the leather keeper.

“Does that feel good?”

“Yes,” he rasps, eyes closed, head back.

I smack him across his behind, harder this time.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Sir,” he cries.

Slowly and with care, I lavish strokes, licks, and flicks over his stomach and his belly, down his body, toward my goal. With one flick, the leather tongue bites his cock once more and he shouts out in a gargled cry, “Oh, please!”

“Quiet.” I command, and reprimand him with a harder flick across his backside.

I skim the leather tongue down through his pubic hair, against his sex. The brown leather brings out his arousal when I pull it back. “See how hard you are for this, Louis. Open your eyes and your mouth.”

He’s breathing hard, but he parts his lips and stares at me, his eyes dazed and lost in the carnality of the moment. And I slip the keeper into his mouth. “See how you taste. Suck. Suck hard, baby.”

His lips close around the tip and it’s like they’re around my dick.

_Fuck._

He’s so fucking hot and I can’t resist him.

Easing the crop from his mouth, I wrap my arms around him. He opens his mouth for me as I kiss him, my tongue exploring him, revelling in the taste of his lust.

“Oh, baby, you taste mighty fine,” I whisper. “Shall I make you come?”

“Please,” he pleads.

One flick of my wrist and the crop smacks his behind. “Please, what?”

“Please, Sir,” he whimpers.

_Good boy._ I step back. “With this?” I ask, holding up the crop so he can see it.

“Yes, Sir,” he says, surprising me.

“Are you sure?” I can barely believe my luck.

“Yes, please. Sir.”

_Oh, Lou. You fucking goddess._

“Close your eyes.”

He does as he’s told. And with infinite care and not little gratitude, I ran quick, stinging licks over his belly once more. Soon he’s panting again, his arousal heightened. Moving south, I gently flick the leather tongue over his dick. Again. And again. And again.

He pulls at his restraints, moaning and moaning. Then he’s quiet and I know he’s close. Suddenly he throws his head back and mouth open and he screams his orgasm as it shudders through his entire body. Instantly I drop the crop and grab him, supporting him as his body dissolves. He sags against me.

_Oh. We’re not done, Lou._

With my hands under his thighs, I lift his trembling body and carry him, still shackled to the grid, toward the Saint Andrew’s cross.

There I release him, holding him upright, pinned between the cross and my shoulders. I tug my jeans, undoing all the buttons, and freeing my cock. Yanking a condom from my pocket, I rip the foil packet with my teeth and with one hand roll it over my erection.

Gently I pick him up again and whisper, “Lift your legs, baby, wrap them around me.”

Supporting his back against the wood, I help him wrap his legs around my hips, his elbows resting on my shoulders.

_You are mine, baby._

With one thrust I’m inside him.

_Fuck. He’s exquisite._

I take a moment to savour him. Then I start to move, relishing each thrust. Feeling him, on and on, my own breathing laboured as I gasp for air and lose myself in this beautiful man. My mouth is open at his neck, tasting him. His scent fills my nostrils, fills me. _Lou. Lou. Lou._ I don’t want to stop.

Suddenly he tenses, and his body convulses around me.

_Yes. Again_. And I let go. Filling him. Holding him. Revering him.

_Yes. Yes. Yes._

He’s so beautiful. And sweet hell, was that mind-blowing.

I pull out of him, and as he collapses against me, I quickly unbuckle his wrists from the grid and support him as we both sink to the floor. I cradle him between my legs, wrapping my arms around him, and he sags against me, his eyes closed, breathing hard.

“Well done, baby. Did that hurt?”

“No.” His voice is barely audible.

“Did you expect it to?” I ask, and I push stray strands of his hair off his face so I can see him better.

“Yes.”

“You see? Most of your fear is in your head, Louis.” I caress his face. “would you do it again?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer immediately, and I think he’s fallen asleep.

“Yes,” he whispers a moment later.

_Thank you, sweet Lord._

I wrap him in my arms. “Good. So would I.” _Again, and again._ Tenderly I kiss the top of his head and inhale. He smells of Louis and sweat and sex. “And I haven’t finished with you yet,” I assert. I’m so proud of him. He did it. He did everything I wanted.

He’s everything I want.

And suddenly I’m overwhelmed by an unfamiliar emotion that rocks through me, slicing through sinew and bone, leaving unease and fear in its wake.

He turns his head and starts to nuzzle my chest.

_Get control, Styles._

“Kneel by the door,” I order, uncurling around him.

_Go. Don’t touch me._

Shakily he gets to his feet and stumbles over to the door, where he resumes his kneeling position.

I take a deep, centring breath.

_What are you doing to me, Louis Tomlinson?_

I stand and stretch, calmer now.

As he kneels by the door, he looks every bit the ideal submissive. His eyes are glazed; he’s tired. I’m sure he’s coming down from the adrenaline high. His eyelids droop.

_Oh, this will never do. You want him as a submissive, Styles. Show him what that means._

From my drawer of toys, I fish out one of the cable ties I bought from Clayton’s, and a pair of scissors. “Boring you, am I, Mr. Tomlinson?” I ask, masking my sympathy. He startles awake and regards me guiltily. “Stand up,” I order.

Slowly he gets to his feet.

“You’re shattered, aren’t you?”

He nods with a bashful smile.

_Oh, baby, you’ve done so well._

“Stamina, Mr. Tomlinson. I haven’t had my fill of you yet. Hold out your hands in front, as if you’re praying.”

A crease mars his forehead for a moment, but he presses his palms together and holds up his hands. I fasten the cable tie around his wrists. His eyes flash to mine with recognition.

“Look familiar?” I give him a smile and run my finger around the plastic, checking that there’s enough room and it’s not too tight. “I have scissors here.” I bring them into his view. “I can cut you out of this in a moment.” He looks reassured. “Come.” Taking his clasped hands, I lead him to the far corner of the four-poster bed. “I want more – much, much more,” I whisper in his ear as he stares down at the bed. “But I’ll make this quick. You’re tired. Hold on to the post.”

Halting, he grasps the wooden pillar.

“Lower,” I order. He moves his hands down to the base until he’s bending over.

“Good. Don’t let go. If you do, I’ll spank you. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” he says.

“Good.” I grab his hips and lift him toward me so he’s properly positioned, his beautiful behind in the air and at my disposal. “Don’t let go, Louis,” I warn him. “I’m going to fuck you hard from behind. Hold the post to support your weight. Understand?”

“Yes.”

I smack him hard across his backside.

“Yes, Sir,” he says immediately.

“Part your legs.” I push my right foot against his, widening his stance. “That’s better. After this, I’ll let you sleep.”

His back is a perfect curve, each vertebra outlined from his nape to his fine, fine ass. I trace the line with my fingers. “You have such beautiful skin, Louis,” I say to myself. Bending over him, I follow the path my fingers have taken with tender kisses down his spine.

As I do, I palm his chest, trapping his nipples between my fingers, and tug. He writhes beneath me, and I plant a soft kiss at his waist, then suck and gently nip his skin while working his nipples.

He whimpers. I stop and stand back to admire the view, growing harder just looking at him. Reaching for a second condom from my pocket, I quickly kick my jeans off and open the foil packet. Using both hands, I wrap it around my cock.

I’d like to claim his ass. Now.

“You have such a captivating, sexy ass. What I’d like to do to it.” I stroke my hands over each cheek, fondling him, then sliding two fingers inside him, stretching him.

He whimpers again.

He’s ready.

“You never disappoint, Mr. Tomlinson. Hold tight. This is going to be quick, baby.”

Clutching his hips, I position myself at his entrance, then reach up, grab a handful of his hair, and hold it tightly. With one hand on my cock and the other around his hair, I slide into him.

_He. Is. So. Fucking. Sweet._

Slowly I slide out of him, then grip his hip with my free hand and tighten my hold on his hair.

_Submissive._

I slam into him, forcing him forward with a cry.

“Hold on, Louis!” I remind him. If he doesn’t, he might get hurt.

Breathless, he pushes back against me, bracing his legs.

_Good boy._

Then I start pounding into him, eliciting small, strangled cries from him as he clings to the post. But he doesn’t back down. He pushes back.

_Bravo, Lou._

And then I feel it. Slowly. His insides curling around me. Losing control, I slam into him, and still. “Come on, Lou, give it to me,” I growl, as I come, hard, his release prolonging mine as I hold him up.

Gathering him in my arms, I lower us to the floor with Louis on top of me, both of us facing the ceiling. He’s utterly relaxed, exhausted no doubt; his weight a welcome comfort. I stare up at the karabiners, wondering if he’ll ever let me suspend him.

Probably not.

And I don’t care.

Our first time together in here, and he’s been a dream. I kiss his ear. “Hold up your hands.” My voice is husky. Slowly, he raises them as if they’re weighted with concrete, and I slide the scissors beneath the cable tie.

“I declare this Lou open.” I murmur, and snip, freeing him. He giggles, his body juddering against mine. It’s a strange and not unwelcome feeling that makes me grin.

“That is such a lovely sound,” I whisper as he rubs his wrists. I sit up so that he’s in my lap.

_I love making him laugh. He doesn’t laugh enough._

“That’s my fault,” I admit to myself as I rub some life back into his shoulders and arms. He turns his face to me with a weary, searching look. “That you don’t giggle more often,” I clarify.

“I’m not a great giggler,” he says, and yawns.

“Oh, but when it happens, ‘tis a wonder and joy to behold.”

“Very flowery, Mr. Styles,” he says, teasing me.

I smile. “I’d say you’re thoroughly fucked and in need of sleep.”

“That wasn’t flowery at all,” he scoffs, scolding me.

Lifting him off my lap so I can stand up, I reach for my jeans and slip them on. “Don’t want to frighten Taylor, or Mrs. Jones, for that matter.”

_It wouldn’t be the first time._

Lou sits in a sleepy daze on the floor. I clasp his upper arms, help him to his feet, and take him to the door. From the hook on the back of the door I grab the gray robe and dress him. He’s no help whatsoever; he really is exhausted.

“Bed,” I announce, kissing him quickly.

An alarmed expression crosses his drowsy face.

“For sleep,” I reassure him. And bending down, I gather him in my arms, cradle him against my chest, and carry him to the sub’s room. There I pull back the comforter and lay him down, and in a moment of weakness climb into the bed beside him. Covering us both with the duvet, I embrace him.

_I’ll just hold him until he’s asleep._

“Sleep now, gorgeous boy.” I kiss his hair feeling utterly sated…and grateful. We did it. This sweet, innocent man let me loose on him. And I think he enjoyed it. I know I did…more than ever before.

Mommy sits looking at me in the mirror with the big crack.

I brush her hair. It’s soft and smells of Mommy and flowers.

She takes the brush and winds her hair round and round.

So it’s like a bumpy snake down her back.

There, she says.

And she turns around and smiles at me.

Today, she’s happy.

I like when Mommy is happy.

I like it when she smiles at me.

She looks pretty when she smiles.

_Let’s bake a pie, Maggot._

Apple pie.

I like when Mommy bakes.

I wake suddenly with a sweet scent invading my mind. It’s Lou. He’s fast asleep beside me. I lie back and stare at the ceiling.

When have I ever slept in this room?

_Never._

The thought is unnerving, and for some unfathomable reason it makes me uneasy.

_What’s going on, Styles?_

I sit up carefully, not wanting to disturb him, and stare down at his sleeping form. I know what it is – I’m unsettled because I’m in here with him. I climb out of bed, leaving him to sleep, and head back to the playroom. There I collect the used cable tie and condoms and stash them in my pocket, where I find Lou’s underwear. With the crop, his clothes, and his shoes in hand, I leave and lock the door. Back in his room, I hang his shirt and trousers on the closet door, and place his shoes beneath the chair. I take his underwear from my pocket – and a wicked idea comes to mind.

I head for my bathroom. I need a shower before we head to dinner with my family. I’ll let Louis sleep awhile longer.

The piping-hot water cascades over me, washing away all the anxiety and unease that I’d felt earlier. As first times go, that was not bad, for either of us. And I’d thought that a relationship with Lou was impossible, but now the future seems full of possibility. I make a mental note to call Caroline Acton in the morning to dress my boy.

After a productive hour in my study, catching up in my reading for work, I decide Louis has had enough sleep. It’s dusk outside, and we have to leave in forty-five minutes for dinner at my parents’. It’s been easier to concentrate on my work, knowing that he’s upstairs in his bedroom.

_Weird._

Well, I know he’s safe up there.

From the refrigerator I take a carton of cranberry juice and a bottle of sparkling water. I mix them in a glass and head upstairs.

He’s still fast asleep, curled up where I left him. I don’t think he’s moved at all. His lips are parted as he breathes softly. His hair is tousled. I sit on the edge of the bed beside him, lean down, and kiss his temple. He mumbles a protest in his sleep.

“Louis, wake up.” My voice is gentle as I coax him awake.

“No,” he grumbles, hugging his pillow.

“We have to leave in half an hour for dinner at my parents’.”

His eyes flicker open and focus on me.

“Come on, sleepyhead. Get up.” I kiss his temple again. “I’ve brought you a drink. I’ll be downstairs. Don’t go back to sleep, or you’ll be in trouble,” I warn as he stretches his arms. I kiss him once more and with a glance at the chair, where he won’t find his underwear, I saunter back downstairs, unable to supress my grin.

_Playtime, Styles._

While I’m waiting for Mr. Tomlinson I press a button on the iPod remote and the music springs to life on a random shuffle. Restless, I wander over to the balcony doors and stare out at the early evening sky listening to Talking Heads’ “And She Was.”

Taylor enters. “Mr. Styles. Shall I bring the car around?”

“Give us five minutes.”

“Yes, Sir,” he says, and disappears toward the service elevator.

Louis appears a few minutes later at the entrance to the living room. He looks luminous, stunning even…and amused. What’s he going to say about his missing underwear?

“Hi,” he says with a cryptic smile.

“Hi. How are you feeling?”

His smile broadens. “Good, thanks. You?” He feigns nonchalance.

“I fell might fine, Mr. Tomlinson.” The suspense is tantalizing and I hope my anticipation is not written all over my face.

“Frank? I never figured you a Sinatra fan,” he says, cocking his head and giving me a curious look, as the rich tones of “Witchcraft” fill the room.

“Electric taste, Mr. Tomlinson.” I step forward him until I’m standing right in front of him. _Will he crack?_ I’m searching for an answer in his glittering blue eyes.

_Ask me for your underwear, baby._

I caress his cheek with my fingertips. He leans his face into my touch – and I’m completely seduced – by his sweet gesture, by his teasing expression, and by the music. I want him in my arms.

“Dance with me,” I whisper, as I remove the remote from my pocket and turn up the volume until Frank’s crooning surrounds us. He gives me his hand. I circle his waist and pull his beautiful body against mine, and we start a slow, simple fox-trot. He grasps my shoulder, but I’m prepared for his touch, and together we whirl across the floor, his radiant face lighting up the room…and me. He falls into step with my lead, and when the song comes to an end, he’s giddy and breathless.

_And so am I._

“There’s no nicer witch than you.” I plant a chaste kiss on his lips. “Well, that’s brought some colour to your cheeks. Thank you for the dance. Shall we go and meet my parents?”

“You’re welcome, and yes, I can’t wait to meet them,” he replies, looking flushed and lovely.

“Do you have everything you need?”

“Oh yes,” he says with easy confidence.

“Are you sure?”

He nods, his lips carved in a smirk.

_God, he has guts._

I grin. “Okay.” I can’t hide my delight. “If that’s the way you want to play it, Mr. Tomlinson.” I grab my jacket and we head to the elevator.

He never fails to surprise, impress, and disarm me. Now I will have to sit through dinner with my parents, knowing my boy is not wearing any underwear. In fact, I’m travelling down in this elevator right now, knowing he’s naked beneath his trousers.

_He’s turned the tables on you, Styles._

HE’S quiet as Taylor drives us north on I-5. I catch a glimpse of Union Lake; the moon disappears behind a cloud, and the water darkens, like my mood. Why am I taking him to meet my parents? If they meet him, they’ll have certain expectations. And so will Lou. And I’m not sure if the relationship I want with Louis will live up to those expectations. And to make matters worse, I put all this in motion when I insisted he meets Anne. I’m the only one to blame. Me, and the fact that Liam is fucking his roommate.

Who am I kidding? If I didn’t want him to meet my folks, he wouldn’t be here. I just wish I wasn’t so anxious about it.

_Yeah. That’s the problem._

“Where did you learn to dance?” he asks, interrupting my chain of thoughts.

_Oh, Lou._ He’s not going to want me to go there.

_“Harry, hold me. There. Properly. Right. One step. Two. Good. Keep in time to the music. Sinatra is perfect for the fox-trot.” Nick is in his element._

_“Yes, Sir.”_

“Do you really want to know?” I answer.

“Yes,” he replies, but his tone says otherwise.

You asked. I sigh in the darkness beside him. “Mr’s. Robinson was fond of dancing.”

“He must have been a good teacher.” His whisper is tinged with regret and reluctant admiration.

“He was.”

_“That’s right. Again. One. Two. Three. Four. Baby, you’ve got this.”_

_Nick and I glide across his basement._

_“Again.” He laughs, his head thrown back, and he looks like a man half his age._

Louis nods and studies the landscape, no doubt concocting some theory about Nick. Or maybe he’s thinking about meeting my parents. I wish I knew. Perhaps he’s nervous. Like me. I’ve never taken a boy home.

When Louis starts fidgeting, I sense something is worrying him. Is he concerned about what we did today?

“Don’t,” I say, my voice softer than I intended.

He turns to look at me, his expression unreadable in the dark. “Don’t what?”

“Overthink things, Louis.” Whatever you’re thinking about. I reach over, take his hand, and kiss his knuckles. “I had a wonderful afternoon. Thank you.”

I get a brief flash of white teeth and a timid smile.

“Why did you use cable tie?” he asks.

_Questions about this afternoon; this is good._ “It’s quick, it’s easy, and it’s something different for you to feel and experience. I know they’re quite brutal, and I do like that in a restraining device.” My voice is dry as I try to inject a little humour back into our conversation. “Very effective at keeping you in your place.”

His eyes dart toward Taylor in the front seat.

_Sweetheart, don’t worry about Taylor._ He knows exactly what’s going on, and he’s done this for four years.

“All part of my world, Louis.” I give his hand a reassuring squeeze before I release it.

Lou returns to staring out of the window; we’re surrounded by water as we cross Lake Washington on the 520 bridge, my favourite part of this journey. He draws up his feet and, curled on the seat, coils his arms around his legs.

Something is up.

When he glances at me, I ask, “Penny for your thoughts?”

He sighs.

_Shit._ “That bad, huh?”

“I wish I knew what you were thinking,” he says.

I smirk, relieved to hear this, and glad he doesn’t know what’s really on my mind.

“Ditto, baby,” I reply.

TAYLOR pulls up outside my parent’s front door. “Are you ready for this?” I ask. Louis nods and I squeeze his hand. “First for me, too,” I whisper. When Taylor’s out the door I give him a wicked, salacious grin. “Bet you wish you were wearing your underwear right now.”

His breath hitches and he scowls, but I climb out of the car to greet my mother and father, who are waiting on the doorstep. Lou looks cool and calm as he walks around the car to us. “Louis, you’ve met my mother, Anne. This is my dad, Carrick.”

“Mr. Styles, what a pleasure to meet you.” He smiles and shakes his outstretched hand.

“The pleasure is all mine, Louis.”

“Please, call me Lou.”

“Lou, how lovely to see you again.” Anne hugs him. “Come in, my dear.” Taking Louis’ arm, she leads him inside and I follow in his underwear-less wake.

“Is he here?” Gemma screams from somewhere inside the house. Lou gives me a startled look.

“That would be Gemma, my little sister.”

We both turn in the direction of the high heels clattering through the hall. And there she is. “Louis! I’ve heard so much about you!” Gemma wraps her in a big hug. Though he’s taller than Louis, I remember they’re almost the same age.

Gemma takes his hand and drags him into the vestibule as my parents and I follow. “He’s never brought a boy home before,” Gemma tells Louis in a shrill voice.

“Gemma, calm down,” Anne chides.

_Yes, for fuck’s sake, Gemma. Stop making such a scene._

Lou catches me rolling my eyes and shoots me a withering look.

Anne greets me with a kiss on both cheeks. “Hello, darling.” She’s glowing, happy to have all her children home. Carrick offers his hand. “Hello, son. Long time no see.” We shake hands and follow the women and Lou into the living room. “Dad, you saw me yesterday,” I mutter. “Dad jokes” – my father excels at them.

Malik and Liam are cuddling on one of the sofas. But Malik gets up to hug Louis when we enter.

“Harry.” He gives me a polite nod.

“Zayn.”

And now Liam has his paws all over Louis.

_Fuck,_ who knew my family were so touch -feely all of a sudden? _Put him down._ I glare at Liam and he grins – an I’m-just-showing-you-how-it’s-done expression plastered all over his face. I slip my arm around Lou’s waist and pull him to my side. All eyes are on us.

_Hell._ This feels like a freak show.

“Drinks?” Dad offers. “Prosecco?”

“Please,” Lou and I reply together.

Gemma bounces on the spot and claps her hands. “You’re even saying the same things. I’ll get them.” She dashes out of the room.

_What the hell is wrong with my family?_

Lou frowns. He’s probably finding them weird, too.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Anne says as she follows Gemma out of the room.

“Sit,” I tell Lou, and I lead him over to one of the sofas. He does as he’s told and I sit at his side, careful not to touch him. I need to set an example for my overly demonstrative family.

_Maybe they’ve always been this way?_

My father diverts me. “We were just talking about vacations, Lou. Liam has decided to follow Zayn and his family to Barbados for a week.”

_Dude!_ I stare at Liam. _What the hell happened to Mr. Love ‘em and Leave ‘em?_ Malik must be good in the sack. He certainly looks smug enough.

“Are you taking a break now you’ve finished your degree?” Carrick asks Louis.

“I’m thinking about going to Georgia for a few days,” he answers.

“Georgia?” I exclaim, unable to hide my surprise.

“My mother lives there,” he says, his voice wavering, “and I haven’t seen her for a while.”

“When were you thinking of going?” I snap.

“Tomorrow, late evening.”

_Tomorrow! What the fuck? And I’m only learning of this now?_

Gemma returns with pink prosecco for Lou and me.

“Your good health!” Dad raises his glass.

“For how long?” I persist, trying to keep my voice level.

“I don’t know yet. It will depend how my interviews go tomorrow.”

_Interviews? Tomorrow?_

“Lou deserves a break,” Malik interrupts, staring at me with ill-concealed antagonism. I want to tell him to mind his own fucking business, but for Lou’s sake I hold my tongue.

“You have interviews?” Dad asks Louis.

“Yes, for internships at two publishers, tomorrow.”

When was he going to tell me this? I’m here with him for two minutes and I’m finding out details of his life that I should know!

“I wish you the best of luck,” Carrick says to him with a kind smile.

“Dinner is ready,” Anne calls from across the hall.

I let the others exit the room but grab Louis’ elbow before he can follow.

“When were you going to tell me you were leaving?” My temper is rapidly unravelling.

“I’m not leaving. I’m going to see my mother. And I was only thinking about it.” Louis dismisses me, as if I’m a child.

“What about our arrangement?”

“We don’t have an arrangement yet.”

_But…_

I lead us through the living room door into the hallway. “This conversation is not over,” I warn as we enter the dining room.

Mom has gone all out – best china, best crystal – for Lou’s and Malik’s benefit. I hold out a chair for Louis; he sits down and I take a seat beside him. Gemma beams at both of us from across the table. “Where did you meet Louis?” Gemma asks.

“He interviewed me for the WSU student newspaper.”

“Which Zayn edits,” Louis interjects.

“I want to be a journalist,” Zayn tells Gemma.

My father offers Lou some wine whilst Gemma and Zayn discuss journalism. Malik has an internship at the _Seattle Times_ , no doubt set up for him by his father.

From the corner of my eye I notice Louis is studying me.

“What?” I ask.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” he says, so low that only I can hear.

“I’m not mad at you,” I lie.

His eyes narrow, and it’s obvious he doesn’t believe me.

“Yes, I am mad at you,” I confess. And now I feel like I’m overreacting. I close my eyes.

_Get a grip, Styles._

“Palm-twitchingly mad?” he whispers.

“What are you two whispering about?” Malik interrupts.

Good God! Is he always like this? So intrusive? How the hell does Liam put up with him? I glower at him, and he has the sense to back off.

“Just about my trip to Georgia,” Lou says, with sweetness and charm.

Zayn smirks. “How was Niall when you went to the bar with him on Friday?” he asks, with a brash look in my direction.

What. The. Fuck. Is. This?

Lou tenses beside me.

“He was fine,” he says quietly.

“Palm-twitchingly mad,” I whisper to him. “Especially now.”

So he went to a bar with the guy who was trying to ram his tongue down his throat the last time I saw him. _And_ he’d already agreed to be mine. Sneaking off to a bar with another man? And without my permission…

He deserves to be punished.

Around me, dinner is being served.

I’ve agreed to not go too hard on him…maybe I should use a flogger. Or maybe I should administer a straightforward spanking, harder than the last one. Here, tonight.

Yes. That has possibilities.

Lou’s looking down at his fingers. Zayn, Liam and Gemma are in a conversation about French cooking, and Dad returns to the table. Where’s he been?

“Call for you, darling. It’s the hospital,” he says to Anne.

“Please start, everyone,” Mom says, passing a plate of food to Louis.

Smells good.

Lou licks his lips and action resonates in my groin. He must be starving. _Good._ That’s something.

Mom has surpassed herself; chorizo, scallops, peppers. Nice. And I realise that I, too, am hungry. That can’t be helping my mood. But I brighten when I watch Louis eat.

Anne returns, looking worried. “Everything okay?” Dad asks, and we all look up at her.

“Another measles case.” Anne sighs heavily.

“Oh no,” Dad says.

“Yes, a child. The fourth case this month. If only people would get their kids vaccinated.” Anne shakes her head. “I’m so glad our children never went through that. They never caught anything worse than chicken pox, thank goodness. Poor Liam.” We all looks at Liam, who stops eating, mi-chew, mouth stuffed full, bovine. He’s uncomfortable being the centre of attention.

Malik gives Anne a questioning look.

“Harry and Gemma were lucky,” Anne explains. “They got it so mildly, only a spot to share between them.”

_Oh, give it a rest, Mom._

“So, did you catch the Mariners game, Dad?” Liam’s clearly keen to move the conversation on, as am I.

“I can’t believe they beat the Yankees,” Carrick says.

“Did you watch the game, hotshot?” Liam asks me.

“No. But I read the sports column.”

“The M’s are going places. Nine games won out of the last eleven, gives me hope.” Dad sounds excited.

“They’re certainly having a better season than 2010,” I add.

“Gutierrez in centre filed was awesome. That catch! Wow.” Liam throws up his arms. Malik fawns over him like a lovesick fool.

“How are you settling into your new apartment, dear?” Anne asks Louis.

“We’ve only been there one night, and I still have to unpack, but I love that it’s so central – and a short walk to Pike Place, and near the water.”

“Oh, so you’re close to Harry, then,” Anne remarks.

Mom’s helper starts to clear the table. I still can’t remember her name. She’s Swiss, or Austrian or something, and she doesn’t stop simpering and batting eyelashes at me.

“Have you been to Paris, Lou?” Gemma asks.

“No, but I’d love to go.”

“We honeymooned in Paris,” Mom says. She and Dad exchange a look across the table, which frankly I’d prefer not to see. They obviously had a good time.

“It’s a beautiful city, in spite of the Parisians. Harry, you should take Lou to Paris!” Gemma exclaims.

“I think Louis would prefer London,” I respond to my sister’s ridiculous suggestion. Placing my hand on Lou’s knee, I explore his thigh at a leisurely pace, his trousers crinkling up as my fingers follow. I want to touch him; stroke him where his underwear should be. As my cock rouses in anticipation I supress a groan and shuffle in my seat.

He jerks away from me as if to cross his legs, and I close my hand around his thigh.

_Don’t you dare!_

Louis takes a sip of wine, not taking his eyes off my mother’s housekeeper, who is serving our entrees.

“So what was wrong with the Parisians? Didn’t they take to your winsome ways?” Liam teases Gemma.

“Ugh, no, they didn’t. And Monsieur Floubert, the ogre I was working for, he was such a domineering tyrant.”

Louis chokes on his wine.

“Louis, are you okay?” I ask, and release his thigh.

He nods, his cheeks red, and I pat his back gently and caress his neck. Domineering tyrant? Am I? The thought amuses me. Gemma shoots me a look of approval at my public display of affection.

Mom has cooked her signature dish, Beef Wellington, a recipe she picked up in London. I have to say it ranks close to yesterday’s buttermilk fried chicken. In spite of him chocking episode, Lou tucks into his meal and it’s so good to see him eat. He’s probably hungry after our energetic afternoon. I take a sip of my wine as I contemplate other ways to make him hungry.

Gemma and Malik are discussing the relative merits of St. Bart’s vs. Barbados, where the Malik family will be staying.

“Remember Liam and the jellyfish?” Gemma’s eyes shine with mirth as she looks from Liam to me.

I chuckle. “Screaming like a girl? Yeah.”

“Hey, that could have been a Portuguese man-of-war” I hate jellyfish. They ruin everything.” Liam is emphatic. Gemma and Zayn burst into giggle, nodding in agreement.

Louis is eating heartily and listening to the banter. Everyone else has calmed down, and my family is being less weird. Why am I so tense? This happens every day all across the country, families gathering to enjoy good food and each other’s company. Am I tense because I have Lou here? Am I worried they won’t like him, or that he won’t like them? Or is it because he’s fucking off to Georgia tomorrow, and I knew nothing about that?

It’s confusing.

Gemma takes centre stage as usual. Her tales of French life and French cooking are entertaining. “Oh, Mom, _La tarte patisseries sont tout simplement fabuleuses. La tarte aux pommes de M. Floubert est incroyable,”_ she says.

_“Gemma, Cherie, tu parles francais,”_ I interrupt her. _“Nous parlons anglaise ici. Eh bien, a l’exception bien sur d’Liam. Il parle idiote, couramment.”_

Gemma throws her head back with a bellowing laugh, and it’s impossible not to join her. But by the end of dinner then tension is really wearing me down. I want to be alone with my boy. I’ve only so much tolerance for inane chatter, even if it’s with my family, and I’ve reached my limit. I peer down at Lou, then reach over and tug his chin. “Don’t bite your lip. I want to do that.”

I also have to establish a few ground rules. We need to discuss his impromptu trip to Georgia and going out for drinks with men who are infatuated with him. I put my hand on Lou’s knee again; I need to touch him. Besides, he should accept my touch, whenever I want to touch him. I gauge his reaction as my fingers travel up his thigh toward his underwear-free zone, teasing his skin beneath. His breath catches and he squeezes his thighs together, blocking my fingers, stopping me.

_That’s it._

I have to excuse us from the dinner table. “Shall I give you a tour of the grounds?” I ask Louis, and I don’t give him a chance to answer.

His eyes are luminous and serious as he places his hands in mine.

“Excuse me,” he says to Carrick, and I lead him out of the dining room.

In the kitchen Gemma and Mom are clearing up. “I’m going to show Louis the backyard,” I announce to my mother, pretending to be cheerful.

Outside, my mood plunges south as my anger surfaces.

_Underwear. The photographer. Georgia._

We cross the terrace and climb the steps to the lawn. Louis pauses for a moment to admire the view.

_Yeah, yeah. Seattle. Lights. Moon. Water._

I continue across the vast lawn toward my parents’ boathouse.

“Stop, please,” Lou pleads.

I do, and I glare at him.

“My shoes. I need to take my shoes off.”

“Don’t bother,” I growl, and lift him quickly over my shoulder. He squeals in surprise.

_Hell._ I smack his ass, hard. “Keep your voice down!” I snap, and stride across the lawn.

“Where are we going?” he wails as he bounces on my shoulder.

“Boathouse.”

“Why?”

“I need to be alone with you.”

“What for?”

“Because I’m going to spank and then fuck you.”

“Why?” he whines.

“You know why,” I snap.

“I thought you were an in-the-moment guy?”

“Louis, I’m in the moment, trust me.”

Throwing open the boathouse door, I step inside and switch on the light. As the fluorescents ping to life I head upstairs to the snug. There I flip another switch, and halogens illuminates the room.

I slide Louis down my body, glorying in the feel of him, and I set him on his feet. His hair is dark and untamed, his eyes shining in the glow of the lights, and I know he’s not wearing his underwear. I want him. Now.

“Please don’t hit me,” he whispers.

I don’t understand. I stare down at him blankly.

“I don’t want you to spank me, not here, not now. Please don’t.”

_But…_ I gape at him, paralysed. _That’s why we’re here._ He lifts his hand, and for a moment I don’t know what he’s going to do. The darkness stirs and twists around my throat, threatening to choke me if he touches me. But he places his fingers on my cheek and gently skims them down to my chin. The darkness melts into oblivion and I close my eyes, feeling his gentle fingertips on me. With his other hand he ruffles my hair, running his fingers through it.

“Ah,” I moan, and I don’t know if it’s from fear or longing. I’m breathless, standing on a precipice. When I open my eyes, he steps forward so his body is flush against mine. He fists both hands in my hair and tugs gently, raising his lips to mine. And I’m watching him do this, like a bystander, not present in my body. I’m a spectator. Our lips touch and I close my eyes as he forces his tongue into my mouth. And it’s the sound of my groan that breaks the spell he’s cast.

_Lou._

I wrap my arms around him, kissing his back, releasing two hours of anxiety and tension into our kiss, my tongue possessing his, reconnecting with him. My hands grip his hair and I savour his taste, his tongue, his frame against mine as my body ignites like gasoline.

_Fuck._

When I pull away, we’re both dragging air into our lungs, his hands clutching my arms. I’m confused. I wanted to spank him. But he’s said no. Like he did at the dinner table.

“What are you doing to me?” I ask.

“Kissing you.”

“You said no.”

“What?” He’s bewildered, or maybe he’s forgotten what happened.

“At the dinner table, with your legs.”

“But we were at your parents’ dining table.”

“No one’s ever said no to me before. And it’s so – hot.” And different. I slide my hand around his backside and jolt him against me, trying to regain control.

“You’re mad and turned on because I said no?” His voice is throaty.

“I’m mad because you never mentioned Georgia to me. I’m mad because you went drinking with that guy who tried to seduce you when you were drunk, and who left you when you were ill with an almost complete stranger. What kind of friend does that? And I’m mad and aroused because you closed your legs on me.”

_And you’re not wearing any underwear._

My fingers inch his shirt up his body. “I want you, and I want you now. And if you’re not going to let me spank you – which you deserve – I’m going to fuck you on the coach, this minute, quickly – for my pleasure, not yours.”

Holding him against me, I see that he’s panting as I slip my hand through the back of trousers and slip a finger inside him. I hear a low, sexy hum of appreciation in his throat. He’s so ready.

“This is mine. All mine. Do you understand?” I slip my finger in and out of him, holding him, as his lips part with shock and desire.

“Yes, yours,” he whispers.

I push him down onto the couch, and pull his trousers down to the backs of his knees. I unzip my fly, and lie down on top of him, pinning him beneath me. “Hands on your head,” I growl through clenched teeth. I kneel up and spread my knees, forcing his legs wider. From the inside of my jacket I take out a condom, then discard my jacket on the floor. With my eyes on his I open the packet and roll it down my eager dick. Lou places his hands on his head, watching me, his eyes glinting with need. As I crawl over him, he’s squirming beneath me, his lips rising to tease and greet me.

“We don’t have long. This will be quick, and it’s for me, not you. Do you understand? Don’t come, or I will spank you,” I order, focusing on his dazed eyes, and with a swift, hard move I bury myself inside him. He calls out in a welcome familiar cry of pleasure. I hold him down so he can’t move, and I start to fuck him, consuming him. But greedily he tilts his pelvis, meeting me thrust for thrust, spurring me on.

_Oh, Lou. Yes, baby._

He gives it back to me, matching my fervent pace, over and over.

_Oh, the feel of him._

And I’m lost. In him. In this. In his scent. And I don’t know if it’s because I’m mad or tense or…

_Yesss._ I come quickly, losing all reason as I explode inside him. I still. Filling him. Owning him. Reminding him that he’s mine.

_Fuck._

That was…

I pull out of him and kneel up.

“Don’t touch yourself.” My voice is hoarse and breathless. “I want you frustrated. That’s what you do to me by not talking to me, by denying me what’s mine.”

He nods, sprawled out beneath me, his shirt bunched up around his waist and his trousers at his knees so I can see he’s wide and wet and wanting, and looking every bit the goddess that he is. I stand up, remove the wretched condom and knot it, then dress, picking up my jacket from the floor.

I take a deep breath. I’m calmer now. Much calmer.

_Fuck, that was good._

“We’d better get back to the house.”

He sits up, staring at me with dark, inscrutable eyes.

Lord, he’s lovely.

“Here. You may put these on.” From my jacket pocket I fish out his tight, black boxers and pass them to him. I think he’s trying not to laugh.

_Yeah, yeah. Game, set, and match to you, Mr. Tomlinson._

“ _Harry!_ ” Gemma yells from the floor below.

_Shit._

“Just in time. Christ, she can be really irritating.” Bu that’s my little sister. Alarmed, I glance at Lou as he stands naked, slipping on his underwear and then his trousers again. He scowls at me as he stands to straighten his shirt and fixes his hair with his fingers.

“Up here Gemma,” I call. “Well, Mr. Tomlinson, I feel better for that – but I still want to spank you.”

“I don’t believe I deserve it, Mr. Styles, especially after tolerating your unprovoked attack.” He is crisp and formal.

“Unprovoked? You kiss me.”

“It was attack as the best form of defence.”

“Defence against what?”

“You and your twitchy palm.” He’s trying to supress a smile.

Gemma’s high heels rattle up the stairs.

“But it was tolerable?” I ask.

Lou smirks. “Barely.”

“Oh, there you are!” Gemma exclaims, beaming at the two of us. Two minutes earlier and this could have been really awkward.

“I was showing Louis around.” I hold out my hand to Lou and he takes it. I want to kiss his knuckles, but I settle for a soft squeeze.

“Liam and Zayn are about to leave. Can you believe those two? They can’t keep their hands off each other.” Gemma wrinkles her nose in distaste. “What have you been doing in here?”

“Showing Louis my rowing trophies.” With my free hand I wave toward the faux-precious-metal statuettes from my sculling days at Harvard arranged on shelves at the end of the room. “Let’s go say goodbye to Zayn and Liam.”

Gemma turns to go and I let Louis precede me, but before we get to the stairs, I smack his behind.

He smothers a yelp.

“I will do it again, Louis, and soon.” I whisper in his ear, and folding him into my arms, I kiss his hair.

We walk hand in hand across the lawn back to the house while Gemma gabbles beside us. It’s a beautiful evening; it’s been a beautiful day. I’m glad Louis has met my family.

Why haven’t I done this before?

_Because I’ve never wanted to._

I squeeze Lou’s hand, and he gives me a shy look and an oh-so-sweet smile. In my other hand I hold his shoes, and at the stone steps I bend down to tie his laces in turn.

“There,” I announce when I’m done.

“Why, thank you, Mr. Styles,” he says.

“The pleasure is, and was, all mine.”

“I’m well aware of that, Sir,” he teases.

“Oh, you two are sooo sweet!” Gemma coos as we head into the kitchen. Louis gives me a sideways look.

Back in the hallway, Malik and Liam are about to leave. Louis hugs Zayn, but then pulls him aside to have a heated private conversation. _What the hell is that about?_ Liam takes Zayn’s arm and my parents wave them off as they climb into Liam’s pickup.

“We should go, too – you have interviews tomorrow.” We have to drive him back to his apartment and it’s nearly 11:00.

“We never thought he’d find anyone!” Gemma gushes as she hugs Louis, hard.

_Oh, for fuck’s sake…_

“Take care of yourself, Louis dear,” Anne says, smiling warmly at my boy. I pull Louis to my side.

“Let’s not frighten him away or spoil him with too much affection.”

“Harry, stop teasing,” Anne chastises me in her usual manner.

“Mom.” I give her a quick peck. Thank you for inviting Louis. It’s been a revelation.

Lou says goodbye to my dad, and we head to the Audi, where Taylor waits, holding the rear passenger door open for him.

“Well, it seems my family likes you, too,” I observe when I’ve joined Lou in the back. His eyes reflect the light from my parents’ porch, but I can tell what he’s thinking. Shadows shroud his face as Taylor drives smoothly out onto the road.

I catch him staring at me under the flicker of a streetlamp. He’s anxious. Somethings’ wrong.

“What?” I ask.

He is quiet at first, and when he speaks there’s an emptiness in his voice. “I think that you felt trapped into bringing me to meet your parents. If Liam hadn’t asked Zayn, you’d never have asked me.”

_Damn._ He doesn’t understand. It was a first for me. I was nervous. Surely, he knows by now that if I didn’t want him here, he wouldn’t be here. As we pass from light to shadow under the streetlamps, he looks distant and upset.

_Styles, this will not do._

“Louis, I’m delighted that you’ve met my parents. Why are you so filled with self-doubt? It never ceases to amaze me. You’re such a strong, self-contained young man, but you have such negative thoughts about yourself. If I hadn’t wanted you to meet them, you wouldn’t be here. Is that how you were feeling the whole time you were there?” I shake my head, reach for his hand, and give it another reassuring squeeze.

He glances nervously at Taylor.

“Don’t worry about Taylor. Talk to me.”

“Yes. I thought that,” he says quietly. “And another thing, I only mentioned Georgia because Zayn was talking about Barbados. I haven’t made up my mind.”

“Do you want to go and see your mother?”

“Yes.”

My anxiety surfaces. Does he want out? If he goes to Georgia, his mother might persuade him to find someone more…suitable, someone who, like his mother, believes in romance.

I have an idea. He’s met my folks; I’ve met Mark; perhaps I should meet his mother, the incurable romantic. Charm her.

“Can I come with you?” I ask, knowing that he’ll say no.

“Um, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he answers, surprised by my question.

“Why not?”

“I was hoping for a break from all this…intensity. To try and think things through.”

_Shit. He does want to leave me._

“I’m too intense?”

He laughs. “That’s putting it mildly!”

Damn, I love making him laugh, even if it is at my expense; and I’m relieved he’s kept his sense of humour. Perhaps he doesn’t want to leave me after all. “Are you laughing at me, Mr. Tomlinson?” I tease.

“I wouldn’t dare, Mr. Styles.”

“I think you dare, and I think you do laugh at me, frequently.”

“You are quite funny.”

“Funny?”

“Oh yes.”

He’s making fun of me. It’s novel. “Funny peculiar or funny ha-ha?”

“Oh, a lot of one and some of the other.”

“Which way more?”

“I’ll leave you to figure that out.”

I sigh. “I’m not sure if I can figure anything out around you.” My tone is dry. “What do you need to think about in Georgia?”

“Us.”

_Fuck._ “You said you’d try,” I gently remind him.

“I know.”

“Are you having second thoughts?”

“Possibly.”

It’s worse than I feared. “Why?”

He stares at me in silence. “Why, Louis?” I persist. He shrugs, his mouth turned down, and I hope he’ll fins his hand in mine reassuring. “Talk to me. I don’t want to lose you. This last week – “

_Has been the best in my life._

“I still want more,” he breathes.

_Oh no, not this again. What does he need me to say?_

“I know. I’ll try.” I clasp his chin. “For you, Louis, I will try.”

I’ve just taken you to meet my parents, for heaven’s sake.

Suddenly he unbuckles his seatbelt, and before I know it, he’s scrambled into my lap.

_What the hell?_

I sit immobile as his arms slip around my head, and his lips find mine, and coax a kiss from me before the darkness has a chance to stir. My hand slides up his back until I’m cradling his head and returning his passion, exploring his sweet, sweet mouth, trying to find answers…His unexpected affections is utterly disarming. And new. And confusing. I thought he wanted to leave, and now he’s in my lap and turning me on, again.

I’ve never…never… _Don’t go, Lou._

“Stay with me tonight. If you go away, I won’t see you all week. Please,” I whisper.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “And I’ll try, too. I’ll sign your contract.”

_Oh, baby._

“Sign after Georgia. Think about it. Think about it hard.” I want him to do this willingly – I don’t want to force this on him. Well, part of me doesn’t. The rational part.

“I will,” he says, and nestles against me.

This man has me tied up in knots.

_Ironic, Styles._

And I want to laugh because I’m relieved and happy, but I hold him, breathing in his redolent and comforting scent.

“You really should wear your seatbelt,” I scold, but I don’t want him to move. He stays wrapped up in my embrace, his body slowly relaxing against mine. The darkness inside me is quiet, contained, and I’m confused by my warring emotions. What do I want out of him? What do I need out of him?

This is not how we should be progressing but I like him in my arms; I like cradling him like this. I kiss his hair, and lean back and enjoy the ride into Seattle.

Taylor stops outside the entrance to Escala. “We’re home,” I whisper to Louis. I’m reluctant to release him, but I lift him onto his seat. Taylor opens his door and he joins me at the entrance to the building.

A shiver runs through him.

“Why don’t you have a jacket?” I ask as I slip mine off and drape it over his shoulders.

“It’s in my new car,” he says, yawning.

“Tired, Mr. Tomlinson?”

“Yes, Mr. Styles. I’ve been prevailed upon in ways I’ve never thought possible today.”

“Well, if you’re really unlucky, I may prevail upon you some more.” _If I get lucky._

He leans against the wall of the elevator as we travel up to the penthouse. Under my jacket he looks slim and small and sexy. If he wasn’t wearing his underwear, I could take him in here…I reach up and free his lip from his teeth. “One day I will fuck you in this elevator, Louis, but right now you’re tired – so I think we should stick to a bed.” I bend down and gently take his bottom lip in my teeth. His breath catches and he returns the gesture with his teeth and my upper lip. I feel it in my groin.

I want to take him to bed and lose myself in him. After our conversation in the car I just want to be sure he’s mine. When we exit the elevator, I offer him a drink, but he declines.

“Good. Let’s go to bed.”

He looks surprised. “You’re going to settle for plain old vanilla?”

“Nothing plain or old about vanilla. It’s a very intriguing flavour.”

“Since when?”

“Since last Saturday. Why? Were you hoping for something more exotic?”

“Oh no. I’ve had enough exotic for one day.”

“Sure? We cater for all tastes here – at least thirty-one flavours.” I give him a lascivious look.

“I’ve noticed.” He raises one fine eyebrow.

“Come on, Mr. Tomlinson, you have a big day tomorrow. Sooner you’re in bed, sooner you’ll be fucked, and sooner you can sleep.”

“Mr. Styles, you are a born romantic.”

“Mr. Tomlinson, you have a smart mouth. I may have to subdue it some way. Come.”

_Yeah. I can think of one way._

Closing the door of my bedroom, I feel lighter than I did in the car. He’s still here. “Hands in the air,” I order, and he does as he’s told. I grip the hem of his shirt and in one smooth move pull it up and over his body to reveal the beautiful man beneath.

“Ta-da!” I’m a magician. Lou giggles and gives me a round of applause. I bow, enjoying the game, before making quick work of the button and zip on his trousers, watching as he steps out of them and placing his clothes on my chair.

“And for your next trick?” he asks, eyes glittering.

“Oh, my dear Tomlinson. Get into my bed, and I’ll show you.”

“Do you think that for once I should play hard to get?” he teases, tilting his head to one side so his hair flops over to one side.

A new game. This is interesting.

“Well, the doors closed. Not sure how you’re going to avoid me. I think it’s a done deal.”

“But I’m a good negotiator,” he says, his voice soft but determined.

“So am I.”

Okay, what’s going on here? Is he reluctant? Too tired? What? “Don’t you want to fuck?” I ask, confused.

“No,” he whispers.

“Oh.” Well, that’s disappointing.

He swallows, then says in a small voice, “I want you to make love to me.”

I stare at him, bemused.

What exactly does he mean?

Make love? We do. We have. It’s just another term for fucking.

He studies me, his expression grave. Hell. Is this his idea of more? All the hearts-and-flowers shit, is that what he means? But we’re just talking semantics, surely? This is semantics. “Lou, I – “ What does he want from me? “I thought we did.”

“I want to touch you.”

_Fuck._ No. I step back as the darkness closes around my ribs.

“Please,” he whispers.

No. _No._ Haven’t I made it clear?

I can’t bear to be touched. I can’t. Ever.

“Oh no, Mr. Tomlinson, you’ve had enough concessions from me this evening. And I’m saying no.”

“No?” he queries.

“No.”

And for a moment I want to send him home, or upstairs – anywhere away from me. Not here.

_Don’t touch me._

He’s watching me warily and I think about the fact he’s leaving tomorrow and I won’t see him for a while. I sigh. I don’t have the energy for this. “Look, you’re tired, I’m tired. Let’s just go to bed.”

“So touching is a hard limit for you.”

“Yes. This is old news.” I can’t keep the exasperation out of my voice.

“Please tell me why.”

I don’t want to go there. This is not a conversation I want to have. Ever. “Oh, Louis, please. Just drop it for now.”

His face falls. “It’s important to me,” he says, a hesitant plea in his voice.

“Fuck this,” I mutter to myself. At the chest of drawers, I pull out a T-shirt and throw it to him. “Put that on and get into bed.” Why am I even letting him sleep with me? But it’s a rhetorical question: deep down I know the answer. It’s because I sleep better with him.

He’s my dream catcher.

He keeps my nightmares at bay.

He turns away from me, then slips on the T-shirt.

What did I say to him in the playroom this afternoon? He shouldn’t hide his body from me.

“I need the bathroom,” he says.

“Now you’re asking permission?”

“Er…no.”

“Louis, you know where the bathroom is. Today, at this point in our strange arrangement, you don’t need my permission to use it.” I unbutton my shirt and slip it off, and he dashes past me out of the bedroom as I try to contain my temper.

What has gotten into him?

One evening at my parents’ and he’s expecting serenades and sunsets and fucking walks in the rain. That’s not what I’m about. I’ve told him this. I don’t do romance. I sigh heavily as I remove my pants.

But he wants more. He wants all that romantic shit.

_Fuck._

In my closet I throw my pants into the laundry basket and pull on my PJ bottoms, and then wander back into my bedroom.

_This isn’t going to work, Styles._

But I want it to work.

_You should let him go._

_No._ I can make this work. Somehow.

The radio alarm reads 11:46. Time for bed. I check my phone for any urgent e-mails. There’s nothing. I give the bathroom door a brisk knock.

“Come in,” Lou garbles. He’s brushing his teeth, literally foaming at the mouth – with my toothbrush. He spits into the sink as I stand beside him, and we stare at each other in the mirror. His eyes are bright with mischief and humour. He rinses off the toothbrush and without a word hands it to me. I put it in my mouth and he looks pleased with himself.

And just like that, all the tension from our previous exchange evaporates.

“Do feel free to borrow my toothbrush,” I say sardonically.

“Thank you, Sir.” He beams, and for a moment I think he’s going to curtsey, but he leaves me to brush my teeth.

When I re-enter the bedroom, he’s stretched out under the covers. He should be stretched out under me. “You know this is not how I saw tonight panning out.” I sound sullen.

“Imagine if I said to you that you couldn’t touch me,” he says, as argumentative as ever.

He’s not going to let this go. I sit down on the bed. “Louis, I’ve told you. Fifty shades. I had a rough start in life – you don’t want that shit in your head. Why would you?”

_No one should have that shit in their head!_

“Because I want to know you better.”

“You know me well enough.”

“How can you say that?” He sits up and kneels facing me, earnest and eager.

_Lou. Lou. Lou. Let it go. For fuck’s sake._

“You’re rolling your eyes,” he says. “Last time I did that, I ended up over your knee.”

“Oh, I’d like to put you there again.” Right now.

His face brightens. “Tell me, and you can.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“You’re bargaining with me?” My voice betrays my disbelief.

He nods. “Negotiating.”

I frown. “It doesn’t work that way, Louis.”

“Okay. Tell me and I’ll roll my eyes at you.”

I laugh. Now he is being ridiculous, and cute in my T-shirt. His face shines with longing.

“Always so keen and eager for information,” I marvel. And a thought occurs to me: I could spank him. I’ve wanted to since dinner, but I could make it fun.

I get off the bed. “Don’t go away,” I warn, and leave the room. From my study I pick up the key to the playroom and head upstairs. In the playroom chest I retrieve the toys I want and contemplate lube as well, but on reflection, and judging from recent experience, I don’t think Louis will need any.

He’s sitting on the bed when I get back, his expression bright with curiosity.

“When’s your first interview tomorrow?” I ask.

“Two.”

Excellent. No early morning.

“Good. Get off the bed. Stand over here.” I point to a spot in front of me. Lou scrambles off the bed with no hesitation, eager as ever. He’s waiting.

“Trust me?”

He nods, and I hold out my hand, revealing two silver Kegel balls. He frowns and looks from the balls to me. “These are new. I am going to put these inside you and then I’m going to spank you, not for punishment, but for your pleasure and mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope u loved, talk to me in the comments :) xxx


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